Between Shadow and Light
by Noelani618
Summary: Sequel to Secrets in Shadow. Haunted by the case in Gettysburg, Detective Peter Burke seeks out Dean Winchester. What started out as trust and mutual respect soon becomes a deep friendship that changes them both. Includes Sam Winchester, Elizabeth Burke, Neal Caffrey, and a special guest appearance by John Winchester. Covers the years 1995-2010. Spoilers through WC S4 and SPN S7!
1. Chapter 1: March 1995

** Between Shadow and Light**

**By Noelani618**

**Summary:** Sequel to Secrets in Shadow. Haunted by the case in Gettysburg, Detective Peter Burke seeks out one Dean Winchester. Peter finds Dean and a whole lot more than he expected. What started out as mutual respect soon evolves into a strong friendship as two worlds collide again and work to coexist. Over the years, that friendship has a ripple effect on their families, friends, and even opponents. Includes appearances from Sam Winchester, Elizabeth Burke, Neal Caffrey, and a special guest appearance by John Winchester. Covers the years 1995-2010.

**A/N:** This story was originally written in drabble format and gradually morphed into a much bigger story than anticipated. As such, I combined the drabbles based on the year the drabble occurs or relevance. For example, in an upcoming chapter, there will be three drabbles from different years combined because they pertain directly to Peter and Elizabeth. This story is also complete and I will be updating regularly.

**A/N:** Written for the spn_gen_bigbang and beta'd by the lovely Slinky-and-the-BloodyWands. She also did the artwork for the story. Check out her profile to clink on the link to her LJ to see it. They pieces are gorgeous! :D

And finally a special shout out to Ani-maniac494 for allowing me to borrow her words prompts from the Christian fan fiction community she moderates. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or White Collar. Though I certainly wished I did!

* * *

**Chapter 1: March 1995**

* * *

Peter woke in a cold sweat.

He swallowed, trying to moisten his mouth and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 2:34 AM. No chance of going back to sleep then.

Grunting, Peter sat up and put his bare feet on the carpet. It was silly, but the carpet's sponge texture grounded him. He wasn't in that cave anymore. He wasn't watching an innocent girl die.

With a sigh, Peter dressed and headed down to the hallway to the kitchen.

Once the coffee machine was happily burping, he sat down at the kitchen table. Slowly, he started flipping through the manual on plumbing. His sink's pipes needed to be replaced or patched soon or his kitchen would turn into a lake. But his mind, as it was prone to after a nightmare, started wandering.

Things had been difficult since the demise of the Lost Creek Cutter's deadly ghost. Between managing his injuries and the fall out of what happened, Peter was stretched thin.

He needed to get out of the city.

Peter was pretty sure taking a trip across several states was not exactly what the good Dr. Cassidy had in mind when he instructed Peter to take it easy. But the detective couldn't bring himself to care that much. After the last four weeks of evaluation and seeing the department psychologist twice a week, he needed to get away. Who knew lying could be so utterly exhausting! His parents had raised him to value integrity, instilled honesty as the best policy since he was a small child. Unfortunately, in this instance, telling the grieving parents of Jennifer Stewart and Eric O'Brien what really happened would have only made things worse. How do you tell a mother that her child was possessed by a ghost and used to kidnap, terrorize, and ultimately kill a young woman? How do you tell a father that his beloved daughter, his princess, died because a ghost wished to use her as a replacement for revenge against a woman dead sixty years past?

Simple: you didn't.

So Peter kept his silence. He reminded himself it was for a good cause. If the truth came out, Dean Winchester would be hunted down and locked away. Peter most likely would share a padded cell next to him. No, no one could know the truth beyond those who already did. But that didn't mean he had to like it.

Absently, he fiddled with the cast on his left arm. Stupid itchy thing.

Peter needed a resolution to what transpired in January. He needed _closure_. What exactly that closure was he didn't know, but he needed it.

His best chance of finding it, he deduced, was in Blue Earth, Minnesota. He could fly out he supposed. Pastor Jim Murphy, the owner of the phone number left on Dean's hospital bed back in Gettysburg, told Peter that he was welcome any time and to feel free to ask questions. He had already asked about the Winchesters and learned that John Winchester had come stumbling back to Blue Earth, still concussed and confused, looking for his sons a few days after his escape from Gettysburg Hospital. It was a small relief to know the man had not intentionally abandoned his oldest son. On the other hand, Dean was emancipated and technically viewed as an adult by the government therefore making John's presence moot.

Peter shook his head, pouring a cup of the fresh coffee brew. He padded to the window, peering out at the night lights of Manhattan. The city that never slept. Much like him these days.

Rationally, he knew the dreams would fade. But how long would Stevenson's twisted face haunt his subconscious? How long would Jennifer's scream as the ghost ripped into her ring in his ears? How long would he taste the gut-wrenching fear at seeing Dean's pale, bloodied face?

Peter turned away from the city; away from the questions he had no answers to, away from his own hollow eyes.

In the morning he would leave for Blue Earth. He may not be able to stop the dreams, but maybe he could find some sort of peace with what happened.

He had to.

* * *

Dean pounded the final nail in with relief. Done! With a tired, but content sigh, he climbed down the ladder. The last storm had ripped several shingles off the church roof. With another storm due in at the end of the week, Pastor Jim had reluctantly asked him to patch it up until it could be completely repaired later. Dean was only too happy to oblige. Anything to get out of the house

His feet on solid ground, he swiped the back of his hand across his brow. Maybe he could convince Pastor Jim to take Sammy into town to help with the shopping when he got back, leaving Dean a quiet afternoon to himself. Yeah, a nice quiet afternoon to read or watch whatever he wanted without any hovering…

"Nice work. But shouldn't you be wearing a jacket?"

He whipped around, the hammer sliding down so he gripped the edge of the handle, his muscles tensed and ready.

"Burke?" he exclaimed, shocked. "What are you doing here?"

Detective Peter Burke, the man who helped him destroy the spirit and werewolf in Gettysburg, shrugged and stepped away from his truck. He was still wearing a cast on his elbow, but the sling was gone. Oddly, the man was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt instead of a suit like Dean would have expected.

"My truck needs a tune up, and I was told I could find a good mechanic here."

Dean's eyebrow shot up. "Really? Long way to drive just for a tune up, dude."

"Yeah, well, this crazy kid drove my truck out into a blizzard and parked it out there a while back. It hasn't run right since."

The sixteen-year-old smirked. "That crazy kid saved your butt, as I recall."

Peter Burke nodded. "Yeah, yeah he did. Got pretty banged up too."

Dean shrugged one shoulder, sliding the hammer into his tool belt. He started gathering the rest of his tools and the extra scraps of woods and roofing. "He's had worse. What about you? Trying out the raccoon look, I see."

"Yeah, thought it might make me more appealing to the ladies."

"How's that working for you?"

"Not so good. They just look at me and run the other way."

"Can't say I blame them."

"Hey!"

Dean snickered, and Peter's mock glare melted into a genuine smile. The older man held out his hand. Dean hesitated a moment before accepting the handshake. "It's good to see you again, Dean."

Dean met the detective's gaze, surprised at his sincerity. Even more surprising was his own voice answering, "You too."

He meant it too, he realized. But Peter was a lawman for crying out loud, someone who was more likely to hinder a hunter than any other person because hunters tended to be breaking the law when on the job. That wasn't even counting the fact that most people who had an encounter with the supernatural were prone to running the other way and pretending it never happened. He never expected to see the detective again, much less that he would come looking for him!

"So, what are you really doing out here, Professor?" The title just slipped out of his mouth before he could catch it. He hid a wince and started gathering the extra nails and wood pieces in a box. Pastor Jim always told him to save the extra supplies in case of emergency repairs.

"Oh, not much. I'm on sabbatical."

Dean paused, throwing the older man a look over his shoulder. "Seriously? I wasn't aware detectives went on sabbaticals. Thought they had vacations or were put on leave or some crap."

"You called me professor," Peter replied, bemused.

"Touché. So what are you doing here then, _Detective_ Burke? Don't you have a desk job to be managing back in New York?" Dean hefted up the box, mindful of his ribs. He really didn't need to give Sam an excuse to mother-hen him anymore.

"Don't you have homework that needs to be done?" Peter volleyed back. Dean rolled his eyes and started walking towards the church shed, the detective easily falling in step with him. "Actually, I—I have some questions about...everything."

"And you couldn't just call Pastor Jim and ask?"

"No."

Dean sighed and mentally waved goodbye to his plans for a relaxing afternoon.

"Okay. Ask then." He opened the shed and set the box inside on the last empty spot on the metal shelf. Mission accomplished, Dean dusted off his hands and closed the shed door. When Peter didn't answer right away, Dean prompted. "Well?"

"Your ribs seem to be healing well."

Okay, that was from left field. "Yep. I'm good to go. What about you? When does that come off?" He pointed to Peter's arm cast.

"Two weeks. Not soon enough, if you ask me."

"Itches like crazy, don't it?"

"You have no idea."

_Oh, trust me, I know very well_. Dean hummed neutrally, leading the way back to the front of the church. For someone intent on asking him questions, the detective was sure pussy footing around. He supposed he could understand why. Peter received the shock of his life not too long ago. It took time to process. All the better for Dean. If Peter wasn't going to ask, then Dean had some time to enjoy his afternoon before they got down to the nitty gritty.

"So, your truck needs a tune up?"

* * *

Peter sat quietly at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee, watching with amusement as Dean tried to put his little brother to bed.

"Just one more chapter! Pleeeeease Dean! It's _Lord of the Rings_!"

"Dude, you have school tomorrow. Algebra test second period?"

The boy pouted, looking five instead of eleven as he reluctantly nodded.

"You study for it?"

"Of course," Sam snapped, indignant.

"Good. So what's the other thing you're always telling me you're supposed to do before taking a test?"

No answer. The book was stubbornly held up in front of the boy's face.

"Sam, answer me."

…

"Sam!"

The boy winced but didn't look up.

"Sam, I won't ask again."

Sam snapped to attention immediately, eyes wide, swallowing hard. Even Peter couldn't suppress a shiver at the unspoken threat in the older Winchester's soft voice.

"Get a good night's sleep."

"Yep! So where should you be right now?"

"Bed," was the mumbled reply.

"Uh huh. So you can either walk, or I can carry you. Your choice, kiddo."

"No! I'm going!" Sam sprang up from the couch, and Peter hid a smile in his coffee cup. Dean stopped his retreat with a raised hand. "Give it."

"Aw, Dean!"

"Give me the book, Sam."

"But—!"

"No buts. I know you, Geekboy. Hand it over and get upstairs to bed. Now," Dean replied firmly.

With a scowl, Sam slapped the book in his brother's waiting hand. From Peter's vantage point, he could just see Dean's mockingly sweet smile as he ruffled the younger boy's hair. Sam batted away his brother's hand with a scowl and stomped off upstairs. A minute later a door slammed shut, and Dean exhaled, his shoulders drooping. He looked much younger and worn down, not so big and intimidating. Really, Dean should have been in bed too. But he wouldn't sleep for a while yet, Peter knew.

The moment ended as the youth straightened. He joined Peter in the kitchen, muttering under his breath, "Nerd."

Peter snorted, but otherwise didn't respond.

Strange, he had guessed back at Devil's Den, but actually seeing it was different. There was a tight knot in his sternum, a fist of amazement and sadness. And maybe a little anger. He pushed it down. This was hardly the time to comment on John Winchester's parenting—or lack thereof, especially to his oldest child. If he said something now, he'd no doubt send Dean and his little brother running for the hills. That was the absolute last thing he wanted to do.

The past few days had been educational to say the least, and not just about the supernatural. It was ironic, considering he originally started out on this little road trip in hopes of getting closure. Somehow he'd gotten some closure and simultaneously found a giant landfill of different problems and lessons that left him feeling overwhelmed.

Lesson number one: hunters were a naturally distrustful bunch, and the Winchester clan even more so.

Peter had already had a taste of that from working with Dean in Gettysburg. He'd had to trust Dean first before it was returned. Thank God that trust had not been misplaced. Dean had saved the lives of two civilians, not counting Peter, because of it. He figured that trust was also probably the only reason Dean hadn't knocked him out, picked up his brother, packed their bags, and disappeared when Peter arrived the other day.

The little interrogation with Pastor Jim Murphy had made it crystal clear that Dean's tentative trust was just that: tentative. He had anticipated something like that when he was driving in. Dean was naturally wary of the authorities and his sudden appearance had put the teenager on guard. Not that he could blame the boy. What he had not expected was the _intensity_ of the interrogation. Peter couldn't recall having ever experienced such a rigorous, double-speak cross-examination in his whole career as a detective. And throughout the interview, the pastor had been genial, relaxed, and curious.

They may not have the government stamp of approval, but they certainly knew what they were doing. Peter respected that.

Lesson number two: the things out there in the dark were numerous and incredibly evil.

He had been totally, completely ignorant, naïve, and unprepared for the harsh realities of the supernatural world. Gettysburg? Barely the tip of the iceberg. Pastor Jim and Dean had shown him a few old case files alongside accounts from previous hunts, and the gore and blood made him sick. Poltergeists, werewolves, death omens, spirits, zombies, water wraiths, demons, and the list went on and on. His nightmares were only increasing the more he learned.

How Dean could handle it in such a calm and matter of fact manner was beyond Peter. Was Dean really so accustomed to death and carnage? It wasn't that the boy was unaffected, he definitely was, but rather that there was a certain resignation as he handed Peter the file. Dean was only sixteen! He shouldn't be so familiar with death, with evil.

"So what do you think, Professor?" Dean cut through his musings as he tapped the newspaper in front of Peter. "Is there a hunt or not?"

Peter didn't know why the teen kept calling him by that moniker. It was incredibly annoying. But it beat being called Pete or Petey.

He glanced at the paper, reading it again quickly. While Dean was getting Sam to bed, he was supposed to be reading the obituaries and reports to see if there was anything that could be a hunt.

"Here," Peter pointed to an article. "A couple of joggers discovered a mutilated body in Lake Shore, Minnesota, last week. It's being ruled an animal attack but based on the vernacular and police response they don't know for sure. They don't offer a whole lot of details, but I think it's worth looking into."

"Very good, grasshopper." Peter shot the boy an annoyed look that Dean easily ignored. "Dad's already checking it out."

Peter leaned back, his hand coming to rest on his thigh as he regarded Dean. "This was a test."

"Have to make sure you're paying attention," was the unrepentant reply.

Peter wasn't exactly surprised. While Pastor Jim had been giving him books to read and lecturing him on the supernatural, Dean had been teaching him the more practical stuff, like the tools of the trade and how to identify a possible case. It was basically the same type of detective work he'd been doing, only with a different vocabulary and a slightly different set of rules. Very different rules.

It all made Peter extremely uncomfortable. Operating outside the law on a daily basis didn't sit right. Laws were there to preserve order, to promote justice. Hunting was pure chaos. From what Peter understood, there was no real rhyme or reason to the monsters out there. They killed with no regard, killed out of anger and pain and hunger and vengeance. Then there were those like Nancy Jenkins who had no control of the monster, who killed without knowing, who otherwise was innocent. Those were the worst cases. These entities could not be stopped unless they achieved their goal or someone who knew how to stop it came along. But there were no guarantees that a hunter would discover a case in time to prevent several deaths. It was purely dependent on the hunters hearing about the case somehow and going to investigate.

"So, Professor, ready to join the ranks of Hunterdom?"

"That's not a word."

"Sure it is," Dean fired back. "Just because you've never heard of it doesn't mean it's not a word."

Oh the irony of that! Peter rocked back, an exasperated smile crossing his lips before it faded as the seriousness of the question caught up with him.

"Dean—I don't think…" Peter hesitated.

"Hey, I get it, man. It's a rough gig. Not everyone can stomach it."

Dean's words held no condemnation, just understanding, for which Peter was grateful. He didn't relish having to fumble his way through explaining how he was certain he wouldn't be able to handle the hunting life. The death and the blood were too much. As it was, he doubted he'd forget everything he'd seen ever. But now that he knew what was out there, Peter couldn't in good conscience just turn his back and walk away.

"I'll keep an eye out for anything that looks like it might be your kind of case. If I hear of anything, I'll pass the word."

Green-gold eyes flicked up.

Peter tilted his head. "It's the least I can do."

Dean nodded. "Thanks."

The kitchen door banged open then, revealing a dirty, exhausted John Winchester lugging a heavy military duffel. His gaze immediately narrowed when he spotted Peter.

"Dean, who is this?"

"Peter Burke," Dean replied immediately. "Met him in Gettysburg on the case, remember? He wants to learn about hunting."

Not exactly a lie, but it certainly stretched the truth. Peter didn't dispute the boy, however. John Winchester didn't look like the kind of man who would listen to further explanations. "Nice to meet you," Peter said, extending his hand.

John's hand was calloused and his grip extremely strong.

"Yeah." John still looked suspicious.

"I tested him, Dad. Pastor Jim did too. He passed."

What? Peter swiveled a confused look at the boy. Tested him? For what? Oh, right. Silver, iron, holy water, and salt lines. Everything was spinning in his mind still, and who knew how long it would take to fully process. He quickly looked back at John, just in time to see his curt nod. "Where's your brother?"

"Bed."

John grunted. "Good." He handed Dean the bag. "Go."

"Yes sir."

Peter watched Dean leave with mild trepidation. It was the first time he had seen father and son interact since he first saw them at that restaurant back in Gettysburg. The interaction smacked of a drill sergeant and his second in command and nothing at all like family. He hid a frown by freshening his coffee mug.

"Want some," he asked, waving the pot. "You look like you could use it."

John dipped his head. Okay, then. Peter grabbed a mug from the dish drainer and filled it. The other man accepted it with gruff thanks before sitting at the other end of the table. It was the first time Peter had seen the Winchester patriarch since he identified him in the Gettysburg Hospital. He studied the man, taking in the dirty clothes, the thick stench of smoke and liquor, and a week worth of scruff on his face. Winchester looked like an exhausted, battle-hardened soldier much like Peter's uncle had after he came back from 'Nam.

"What does a New York detective want with my son?"

Peter snapped his attention to the former marine at the other side of the table. The head of the Winchester clan was suspicious, wary, and more likely to react violently then his eldest child. Well, he knew where Dean got it from now.

"Your son saved my life. I wanted to thank him." All quite true. John Winchester stared at him, obviously waiting for more. "He left Pastor Jim's number in case I had any questions. I did. I talked with Jim, asked if I could come out and learn about," Peter waved his hand, "everything. He gave me the okay."

John's scrutiny didn't alleviate. He sipped his coffee, gaze fixed. Peter had to actually tell himself not to squirm or shift. Instead, he focused on his own coffee and the paper in front of him.

Silence fell between them, stifling and thick. Peter refused to break it. The ball was in Winchester's court.

"Dean's been teaching you how to hunt?"

Peter carefully checked the urge to slump with relief. "The basics mostly; what to look for in and how to identify it, what kills it."

"You're not hunter material."

That was blunt and disturbingly accurate for not even knowing him for more than ten minutes. "No, I'm not. But I needed to know. Now I do. And I'll help where I can." He met John's gaze squarely. "Not every hunter has to actually hunt."

It was risky making such a statement. His only support was Pastor Jim telling him that the hunting network was much bigger than Dean knew. Not everyone who knew about things that went bump in the night actively hunted. But Dean didn't know about those people. John Winchester deliberately kept his children far from the hunting community, except a select few. If Peter wished to keep in touch with the teenager, he needed John Winchester to trust him to some degree.

Winchester stared back. "I'll hold you to that, Detective Burke."

The grizzled hunter finished his coffee and left, trudging up the stairs. Peter's arms tingled, and he suddenly wondered what he had just signed up for. When he said it to Dean, it was like a promise between friends; a mutual understanding. Saying it to John Winchester just now felt like he was just sworn into the police force again.

Once a detective, always a detective, as the saying went. He had a distinct feeling that same saying applied here: once a hunter, always a hunter.

* * *

Thanks for reading! :)

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	2. Chapter 2: 1996

**Between Shadow and Light**

Summary: Sequel to **Secrets in Shadow**. Haunted by the case in Gettysburg, Detective Peter Burke seeks out Dean Winchester. What started out as trust and mutual respect soon becomes a deep friendship that changes them both. Includes Sam Winchester, Elizabeth Burke, Neal Caffrey, and a special guest appearance by John Winchester. Covers the years 1995-2010.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to their respective creators. I am merely borrowing and playing with them for a little while.

**A/N:** This story was originally written in drabble format and gradually morphed into a much bigger story than anticipated. As such, I combined the drabbles based on the year the drabble occurs or relevance. For example, in this chapter there are two drabbles from the year 1996: one in August and one in December. Both are included here. This story is also complete and I will be updating regularly.

And a big thank you to all who reviewed the first chapter! :)

* * *

**Chapter 2: 1996**

* * *

**August**

He gulped in the fresh air greedily as he stepped out of the bar. A pleased grin on his lips, Dean climbed into the Impala.

It had been a good night. The money he hustled tonight would go a long way if he planned carefully. The bills would be covered with enough left over for food for the next couple weeks.

More importantly, he had earned just enough extra to buy Sammy a brand new pair of shoes. Poor kid desperately needed a new pair. The soles of his current shoes were worn almost clean through and literally coming apart at the seams. He was pretty sure he caught a glimpse of his baby brother's toes this morning. Dad would probably want him to buy boots, but Sam was still new to the hunting gig. Tennis shoes would suffice. Besides, with the kid starting to grow like a weed, Sam would probably outgrow the boots in no time.

He imagined Peter would have a few things to say if he knew Dean was hustling for money and not just working. The professor was a stickler for the law, especially with him since he was an emancipated minor. It was laughable. Dean had been hustling for extra cash almost as long as he had been handling a gun! But then, Peter was new to hunting and all of the caveats that came with the job, which included no pay and no thanks. The bills had to be paid somehow.

Peter Burke. Now there was a man ill-suited for the hunting life. It had not taken long for Dean to conclude either. Peter was a rare kind of man, an honest guy who genuinely believed in the law and justice and at the same time believed in helping people. It was a bizarre mix in a cop. No, make that an FBI agent in training. Last Dean heard, the former detective was three weeks into the twenty-one week intensive training at Quantico. He shook his head.

How in the world did he personally know someone joining the FBI anyway? Wasn't there some sort of hunter taboo or rule for knowing the idiots who interfered in a hunter's job and usually made it twice as hard?

Dean coasted the Impala into the motel parking lot the Winchester clan currently called home. It was shabby, rundown, and the desk clerk was a sleaze, but it was cheap enough for them to afford. From his standpoint, it was actually pretty decent compared to some of the other crappy places they had stayed over the years.

Shutting off the engine, Dean climbed out. He would buy the shoes after he dropped Sam off at school in the morning, he decided. Leave them as a surprise on Sammy's bed for when he came home.

He was still a few feet from the door when he heard the yelling.

Silently, he started cursing. Ever since Sammy hit puberty, he'd become moody and argumentative. Sam argued about everything and often refused to listen. Worse, he'd run away a few times. Dean hated it, hated that Sam was so unhappy. He did his best to make Sam happy, to provide the best he could, to teach him what Dad demanded he know, what Sam needed to know, and to make him laugh and smile and scowl when Dean joked or teased him. Yet, it seemed no matter what he did or said Sam remained miserable.

Dean wished he could change that, wished with everything that he had, but Dean was no dreamer. He was a realist. There was little chance of life changing, especially for them. They were hunters.

Pausing, he listened outside the door for a moment and promptly swore again, this time aloud. Apparently, dad found the field trip form for the zoo which Sam had just brought home from school that day. It wasn't hard to figure out what his dad probably did and said and how Sam reacted.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Then he carefully shored up his defenses, plastered on a smile, and opened the door.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

**December**

"That was some speech, man. Have you been taking lessons from Pastor Jim?"

Peter spun around, mouth falling open. "Dean? How did—you saw the whole thing?"

"From the boring introduction to the grand finale!" Dean said, smug grin getting wider if possible as he came to stand beside him.

Peter tried to glare, but it was hard in the face of the teen's mirth. He couldn't remember seeing the boy in such good spirits before. It was catching. Maybe that was just the atmosphere of happiness generated by the countless family members and friends congratulating the new FBI agents. Dean had come moderately dressed for the occasion, he noted, wearing a collared shirt, a suit jacket, and his usual jeans and boots. Suspicion bloomed.

"So, you were just in the neighborhood? Thought you'd drop by?"

"Yup!" Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels, completely shameless. Peter rolled his eyes. "Right."

Dean laughed. "Come on, Professor, I couldn't miss your Quantico graduation and initiation as a G-man!"

"Of course not," Peter deadpanned as Dean snagged an hors d'oeuvre from a passing server's tray. "Looks to me like you just came for the food."

"Definitely an incentive," Dean murmured, happily finishing the hors d'oeuvre and taking another. "Doesn't taste half bad."

"And you'd know all about fine cuisine."

Dean moved the hors d'oeuvre up in a mock cheer before he polished it off in a single bite.

"So, how long did you have to practice that speech?"

"It wasn't that big of a deal," Peter muttered.

"Oh, so being one of the top pooba selected to give a speech about a division is not a big deal?"

"Okay, so it is a little bit."

Dean gave him a disbelieving look.

"A lot," Peter conceded, ducking his head, a proud smile creasing his features. It was an honor to speak about the Bureau's white collar division. One that had taken him completely off guard when Philip Kramer, his mentor, informed him that his class had selected him to give a speech on behalf of those who specialized in the white collar division. After the shock wore off, he'd systematically panicked about what he would say. Speeches weren't his thing. Crowds and fancy gatherings and parties weren't his thing either. He was horrible in those situations. There was no way he would ever admit to Dean that he had in fact called Pastor Jim for help writing the speech, interrupting more than one Bible study or meal. Dean would never let him live it down.

"How many times did you write that speech?"

"Oh no, we're not going there."

"Why not? I have at least twenty drafts right here."

Peter's eyes went wide in shock as Dean produced a plastic bag full of crumbled papers with very familiar writing covering them.

"Where did you get those?"

"A good tradesman never reveals his secrets." Dean easily pulled the bag out of Peter's reach and stuffed it back in his jacket pocket. He grinned expectantly. "So? How many times? Because these are nothing like the speech you gave up on stage."

He was going to strangle him. Then find some way to bring him back to do it again. How in the world did the punk get those?

"You were in my apartment?"

Dean hedged. "I may have stopped by your place earlier."

Stopped by earlier? To what, invade his privacy? Anger churned and then stilled. He could see smudges under the boy's eyes, the slight paleness of his skin, the rumpled look to the jacket and shirt. A very familiar jacket and shirt, he realized, mentally kicking himself. Dean had probably just stopped by to visit, broken in, and found the bulletin with the location of the graduation and reception. The teen had borrowed a suit jacket and shirt, and then raced over to catch the ceremony.

He exhaled and let go of his irritation. "Oh really? Find anything else besides my notes?"

"Yeah, you need to lay off the Chinese take-out and buy more beer."

"You better not have drunk my beer," he warned with a pointed finger.

"Chill dude! I left it alone."

"Good."

"But you will need to buy some more peanut M&Ms."

"Unbelievable."

Dean's responding grin was bright and utterly shameless. "So, how many times? Fifty? A hundred?"

Peter scowled. No way was he going to admit he'd lost count.

"You lost count didn't you?"

"How did you—never mind. I don't want to know," Peter grumbled. Sometimes, Dean's ability to read people scared him.

Dean patted his shoulder in mock sympathy. "Don't worry, Professor. I think only the people sitting in the first few rows could see your knees knocking together."

"Hmm, well, we'll see how you handle it when you graduate and have to make a speech."

If he had not been looking at the teenager, he would have missed the slight derisive twist of Dean's mouth.

"Nah, not me."

Puzzled, he pressed, "You are going to graduate next spring, right?"

"School's not really my thing," Dean shrugged, dismissive.

Peter frowned. "What do you mean? You're smart, and certainly capable."

The genuine surprise on Dean's face was like a physical blow. Didn't John Winchester ever compliment his eldest son?

"Not me, Professor. That's Sammy's thing, not mine. Me, I shoot stuff."

"That's your excuse?"

Peter had not meant for it to sound like he was judging the youth. Okay, maybe he was, but not like that. He just didn't understand why Dean was trying to brush off his own high school graduation. Graduation was important. It marked a turning point in a young person's life as they prepared to go out into the world on their own. Why didn't Dean see that? Peter actually had an inkling of the cause, and it stoked the protective fire in his belly. He firmly clamped down on the anger. Anger would gain him nothing.

The seventeen-year-old's happy façade was still in place, but Peter could actually almost see Dean pulling back behind the mask. Blast!

"You've been to eight schools since you started high school and have managed to keep a B average the whole time. You were…shooting stuff then." _More than a teenage boy ever should_, Peter added silently. "What changed?"

"Man, what am I going to do with a diploma? It's just a stupid piece of paper."

"Stupid piece of paper?" Peter couldn't believe his ears. "Dean, that stupid piece of paper will help you later in life. When you're looking for jobs—"

"I already have a job, Professor," Dean interrupted. "And I'm good at it."

Peter pressed his lips together to keep what he wanted to say to himself. Screaming that hunting wasn't a career, much less a job, would probably not go over well. A hint of steel shone in Dean's eyes as they locked gazes in a battle of wills. Peter broke first with an exasperated huff. "That doesn't mean you shouldn't graduate."

The youth studied him for a moment before plucking a glass of champagne from a server's tray. He tipped the glass back, swallowing a portion. Peter shifted, agitated just like the kid no doubt intended. Punk! But he got the point. Dean was already carrying the responsibilities and weight of an adult, more than most adults carried in some cases. He had for some time. Normal things like worrying about pimples, going to prom, and graduation were of no concern to him. There were more important things on his plate. Ironic, Dean felt the desire to attend Peter's graduation like he no doubt would feel about going to Sam's a few years down the line.

"Fine, I get it."

Satisfied, Dean smiled and the tension released from his shoulders as his eyes found the backside of one of the beautiful serving girls. Peter couldn't believe it. One minute the kid was mad and challenging him, the next he was acting like a horn dog.

"Hey!" He snapped his fingers to get Dean's attention.

"Huh."

"What about getting a GED?"

Dean's eyebrows shot up.

"Hear me out." Peter knew he had to present this just right or Dean would dismiss it. "You're emancipated and considered an adult. But if the authorities think you're being irresponsible, they can revoke it. Getting a GED will keep them off your back."

Dean considered. Peter could see the wheels turning in the kid's head, the possibilities and dangers inherent being weighed and measured at lightning speed. He suppressed the burgeoning anticipation. Dean could very well disagree. The teen was unpredictable that way. Oddly Dean may be an expert at putting on masks and lying with his mouth, but his eyes gave him away. In the depths he could see the longing, the yearning to achieve something all his own. Peter guessed that it was because he knew the teenager better now, had been friends with him for almost two years, that he could see that.

"Guess I should get a GED then."

Peter fought to keep the triumphant grin to himself, keeping his tone neutral as he replied, "Yeah, I guess you should."

He plucked the champagne from Dean's hands while Dean muttered grumpily about up-tight detectives who didn't bend the rules.

"That's 'agent' to you," he corrected primly, sipping the beverage.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Right, right, _Agent_ Burke. My mistake."

"And don't you forget it!"

Dean snorted and Peter grinned. Tension effectively dissipated.

"Petey!"

He groaned quietly. Dean raised an eyebrow, mouthing 'Petey' with way too much delight for Peter's liking. The new FBI agent shook his head sharply and turned to greet the man who'd call his name.

"Philip."

Agent Philip Kramer thumped him on the back warmly.

"Well done, my boy," the senior agent praised. "That was some speech. I knew the resident Archeologist was a good choice for the job. I don't think White Collar has been represented so well in years."

"Oh, I doubt that."

"No, it's true. Best speech since Alan Bridges gave his back in '89."

"Thank you, sir." Peter felt his cheeks heating up.

"Now, where is that young fellow you were talking to?"

Peter glanced over his shoulder to find that Dean had vanished as suddenly as he had appeared. The corner of his mouth turned up.

"Guess he had to run."

The new FBI agent ignored Kramer's curious look as he finished the last swallow of champagne.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Please review?


	3. Chapter 3: 1997-1998

**Between Shadow and Light**

Summary: Sequel to **Secrets in Shadow**. Haunted by the case in Gettysburg, Detective Peter Burke seeks out Dean Winchester. What started out as trust and mutual respect soon becomes a deep friendship that changes them both. Includes Sam Winchester, Elizabeth Burke, Neal Caffrey, and a special guest appearance by John Winchester. Covers the years 1995-2010.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to their respective creators. I am merely borrowing and playing with them for a little while.

**A/N:** This story was originally written in drabble format and gradually morphed into a much bigger story than anticipated. As such, I combined the drabbles based on the year the drabble occurs or relevance.

**A/N:** To all my reviewers: Thank you so much for taking the time to comment! Enjoy the new chapter. :)

**_ETA: Oops, I forgot to say there are spoilers for all aired episodes of White Collar up through season 4. There are also spoilers for past events referenced in SPN Season 7. Sorry about that!_**

* * *

**Chapter 3: 1997-1998**

* * *

**March 1997**

Sam fingered the college pamphlet his school counselor had given him. Never too early to start planning, she'd said with a bright smile.

It felt like he had been handed the key to his freedom. College! He could leave; get away from hunting supernatural monsters and all the training and guns and knives and blood and fear. He could leave it all behind.

His English teacher, Mr. Wyatt, from Truman High four schools back had told him to make his own choices, to not let his family dictate his future.

Sam pressed his lips together in a grim line.

That was exactly what he was going to do. Just a little over three years, and then he could escape.

He would start in someplace new, someplace safe where he didn't have to worry about Dad barking orders at him like he was nothing but a toy soldier or leaving on another Miller Time shift.

Yes, Sam was getting out. And nothing was going to stop him.

~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~

He was reeling, mind spinning at tornado speed.

He felt like Luke Skywalker at the climax of _The Empire Strikes Back_, screaming at the top of his lungs as Vader's verbal blade sliced through Luke's very foundation like it was no more than rice paper.

His dad was dead! Mom had told him so, told him of the terrible struggle and the final volley of shots where his dad met his end fighting the good fight. He was a hero, his hero. He couldn't be…_alive_.

But Ellen wouldn't lie to him. What could she possibly gain from such a falsehood? Nothing. Absolutely nothing!

Danny felt sick.

Everything he knew was a lie. His dad wasn't a hero. He was a traitor, a _murderer_!

To top it all off, Danny wasn't even his real name! No, Ellen said it was Neal, Neal Bennett! Ellen, his mom, and he were all in Witness Protection and had been given false identities for their safety.

Was Ellen's name really Ellen Parker? What could he believe anymore? Who could he trust? Everything, all of it…a _lie_.

_Happy birthday to me_! The boy thought sarcastically and laughed until tears streamed down his face.

He had to get out, he had to leave.

Neal didn't pause to think about it more. He started walking and then started running.

He was getting out and nothing was going to stop him.

* * *

**June 1998**

The kid was ambitious. He was a good pool player, but way too cocky for this particular rough crowd.

Bright blue eyes were narrowed on the white ball as he feigned fumbling and planning his shot. A dark shock of brown hair curled in a cowlick made him look younger still. All that was missing was his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

The cue hit the ball, and it rocked forward, barely bumping into the solid blue second ball and narrowly avoided sending it into the bunch of three stripes nearby. With his turn over, the kid stepped back to give his opponent room,

Dean supposed the scruff made Rebel Ollie appear somewhat older, but for someone who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks, it was easy to tell that the scruff was something the kid wasn't completely used to. Plus, the ragged clothes that hung loosely over his frame? No doubt about it, the kid was a runaway.

It was Ollie's turn again. He hit the white ball, striking two solids, including the one he hit with his previous shot, and sending them both into the pocket. Dean caught the flick of blue eyes, saw unease, even as he feigned shocked happiness. Yeah, the kid knew he was pushing his luck but was apparently willing to chance it.

Rebel Ollie's opponent appeared to be an average redneck, but Dean had quickly sussed out the burly man was king of this particular bar. Mentally, Dean dubbed him Johnny Sullivan. The redneck had that 'I can lick anyone in the world' vibe about him. Sullivan was definitely not the person to hustle unless you had a serious desire to duke it out afterwards to keep the winnings. But Rebel Ollie was high on his earlier wins and, stupidly, he'd challenged Sullivan instead of just walking away and calling it a night.

He watched Sullivan carefully as he finished his beer. Dark eyes suddenly narrowed, lips curled in a snarl barely visible underneath a bushy beard. Sullivan exchanged glances with two goons who'd come in with him. Ollie was too preoccupied with his next shot to notice. Crap. The kid was made.

Really it was none of his business what happened to the kid. He needed to head out soon if was going to meet up with Dad and Sam in Tallahassee by tomorrow evening. If Ollie was dumb enough to keep playing long after he should have hightailed it out, it was no skin off his nose. Kid would learn. He pulled out his wallet and dropped a few bills on the counter.

In his peripheral, he noticed goon number one, Rocky, shifting, exposing muscled arms and meaty fists. A glance at goon number two, Bullwinkle, confirmed the relative same size and build. They'd snap Ollie like a twig. That and they were both carrying what looked like large hunting knives. Double crap.

Oh, he was so going to regret this.

"Hey, man," he stumbled toward Ollie. "How's it going? Been watching your game, dude. Gettin' better."

He wrapped his arm around the kid's shoulder, swaying and smiling drunkenly. Ollie was looking at him slightly wide-eyed, confused. He whispered in his ear. "You're blown. Play along."

The kid tensed slightly under his arm, but otherwise, his facial expression betrayed nothing.

"Oh, you know me, Dave. Always looking to improve my game."

Dean guffawed, maintaining his drunken sway. The key to playing drunk convincingly was to understate and not overdo it. "Sure, Ollie boy. Sure! But weren't you supposed to meet your girl, whatshername, Laura, for dinner?"

Ollie blanched and glanced at the clock hanging on the wall.

"She's gonna kill me," Ollie moaned.

Dean smothered a smile. Kid was good; he had to give him that.

"S'kay, man. Jus' blame me!" He grinned dopily, staggering back and to the side.

"Hey, snake eyes, are we gonna finish our game or what?" Sullivan cut in. Dean didn't know who he was calling snake eyes. If anyone had the beady eyes like a snake, it was Sully boy, not Ollie. But at least he was between the kid and the redneck now.

"No." Ollie shook his head, stepping forward to pull Dean's arm over his shoulders. "I need to get Dave here home or his girlfriend will join mine in roasting us over the coals. Let's call this one a draw and keep our money."

Sullivan considered.

Dean really hoped he'd let it go easy, but he wasn't counting on it.

"Fine."

Really? Dean didn't believe what he just heard. He swayed again, adding a groan for good measure. "We goin', Ollie?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just a sec, Dave."

Sullivan picked up the wad of cash and counted up the bills. Finally he handed Ollie some. It certainly wasn't the amount Ollie had won in the previous bets, but it wasn't too much less either.

He could see the protest forming on the kid's face, and he quickly swayed and tripped over his feet, forcing Ollie to scramble to keep him up. "Let it go, kid," Dean murmured before saying in a louder voice, "Whoo-whee! Gonna have a good time!"

Ollie quickly stuffed the cash in his pocket and grabbed onto Dean with both hands as he started bobbing in a drunken attempt to dance.

"I got to get him out of here before he starts singing karaoke!" Ollie added in a stage whisper, "Can never shut him up afterwards. Not to mention he's gotta voice like nails on a chalkboard."

"You talkin' bout me, Ollie?" Dean feigned offense. "That's sooo not cool!"

Sullivan snorted and waved them off. "Scram."

Mentally, Dean breathed a quiet sigh of relief. It worked! Together, the pair made their way out of the bar. Dean didn't let the kid pull away once they were out the front door. Better safe than sorry.

"Chevy Impala on the right," he instructed quietly. Then he rocked to the side and bellowed, "Hang on, Lisa! I'm a' comin' home!"

Obediently, the boy headed toward the classic muscle car. Now came the hardest part, letting the kid drive his car. Gritting his teeth, Dean slipped the boy the keys. "You screw up my car, I'll kick your butt from here to next week. Got it?"

"Yes sir," was the quiet reply. Good. The kid's self-preservation hyperdrive was apparently kicking back in.

He tried not to think about the kid sitting in the driver's seat, touching the wheel of his car as the boy started the engine. Dean slumped in the passenger seat, bobbing slightly so any prying eyes would still believe he was drunk and out of it.

"Go left."

Ollie acknowledged him with a slight nod and carefully drove the car out of the parking lot and onto the two lane highway.

Once they had gone a sufficient distance from the bar, Dean dropped the drunken act completely.

"Pull over."

As the Impala came to a halt on the side of the road, Dean turned to fully face Ollie. "You are ten kinds of stupid, kid."

Ollie was indignant. "I am not! I knew what I was doing."

"Really?" Dean deadpanned.

Ollie's opened his mouth to retort, only for it to snap shut as Dean finished. "Did you notice the blades Rocky and Bullwinkle had on them? Or that they were planning to turn you into a fish fillet?"

"I would have gotten away," Ollie muttered sullenly, pouting at his lap.

Dean shook his head. "Not without being badly hurt. And then what, huh? You're homeless and on the run. Where would you have gone?"

He was surprised the kid didn't get whiplash with how fast his head snapped up.

"How did you—you're a cop!"

Dean scoffed. "Not a chance! I just get around. It's not hard to recognize newbies in places like that."

The kid looked chagrined. "That obvious, huh?"

"Only to those who know what to look for," Dean assured him. There was more he wanted to say, but it could wait. "Slide over."

Ollie's eyes widened slightly.

"It's my car, kid. Move over so I can drive."

Ollie obeyed as Dean got out and walked to the driver's side. Back behind the wheel, Dean felt the last of the pressure draining away. This is where he belonged. To his right, Ollie was now rigid and desperately trying to play it off. But exhaustion was quickly catching up to the boy.

Dean pretended not to notice as he guided the Impala back out onto the road.

"What do you say we grab some food at that diner? I'm starving!" Dean declared. "I think they were having a pecan pie special or something. Anything's better than the so-called food they had at the bar."

Kid's big blue eyes were wide with disbelief. Dean just glanced over and smiled lazily. He was pleased as the kid slowly deflated and nodded a minute later. Good. He was afraid the kid was gonna argue with him.

Besides, he really was hungry.

~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~

The diner was typical for rural America: rundown and decorated for a bygone era ranging from the thirties to the eighties. This one boasted a late sixties style. Despite the peeling paint and cement cushions, it was clean and the food reputedly wasn't half bad.

The waitresses weren't half bad either, Dean thought with an appreciative grin, enjoying the way the red-head's slender waist swayed as she walked by with another customer's dinner. It was very difficult to tear his attention away. She looked like she would be a lot more fun than his sullen companion.

"So, care to tell me what a scamp like you was doing in a bar like that?"

"What were _you_ doing there?" the younger boy countered. Dean shrugged easily. "Getting a drink. I've been on the road all day."

Ollie seemed to consider that. "Where are you going?"

"Tallahassee. You, Ollie boy?"

"That's not my name," the boy said, a challenge creeping into his voice.

Dean's mouth twisted down in an exaggerated innocent frown as he scanned the menu. "My name's not Dave either."

A beat. Then the dark haired boy held out his hand. "Neal."

"Dean." He shook Neal's hand.

"Thanks for...you know."

"No problem, kid."

Neal glared. "You're not much older than me!"

Dean grinned cheekily. "So?"

Age was just a number anyway.

The waitress's arrival cut off Neal's rejoinder. "What can I get you boys?"

Once they had ordered and the waitress left, Dean settled back against the booth. He considered how to approach this. Probably best to build up some and then hammer the point home.

"How long have you been playing pool?"

Neal didn't answer, fidgeting, keeping his head turned away.

"I've been playing since I was ten," Dean offered. Technically, he'd been playing since he was tall enough to see over the table and hold the cue, which was about the same time he learned how to shoot a gun. But he had not started hustling until he was ten. Dad had been leaving for longer periods of time and the money he left almost always ran out before he got back. Dean had to supplement their income somehow.

"Nine."

"That when you learned how to hustle?"

A slow nod.

"Yeah, well, you need to go back to class, Sparky. Because you definitely failed."

Neal glared at him. "It's none of your business! I can handle myself."

"Oh, you mean like stealing my wallet, my knife, and my car keys while we were walking in here?"

The boy froze, fear flittering across his face before he hid it behind defiance. Blasted kid and his fearful puppy eyes! He was nearly as bad as Sam. Crap, he might as well be Sam after Dean caught him doing something he wasn't supposed to.

He held out a hand. "Give it."

Neal reluctantly pulled the wallet out of his pocket and gave it to him. Dean waggled his fingers. "All of it, kid."

Scowling, Neal slapped the knife and keys into his hand too. Good thing it was his folded knife and not the bowie knife. Otherwise his hand would have been sliced open. He glared fiercely at Neal for a moment, silently warning him to be more careful. Reddened cheeks and a ducked head confirmed his message was received.

"Thank you." He quickly stowed his knife and keys in his pockets, then checked his wallet. Forty bucks was missing, nothing else. Dean closed it crisply. "You're buying, kid."

Neal seemed surprised. His hair had fallen into his face, and Dean was once again seeing another younger, mop haired boy. He shook his head.

"Next time, just ask."

"Yeah, right. Look here, the hustling king offering me tips about asking for money."

Dean's eyebrow shot up at the smart remark.

"I play a decent game," he offered, faking modesty. Actually, he was frigging great and had hustling down to a science. It only took a few mistakes to learn what to do to avoid getting the crap beat out of him.

Dean arrested the boy's attention with a single punctuated finger.

"And I know when it's gotten too hot that it's time to clear out and find new hunting grounds. You were stupid and reckless, Neal. You got lucky this time. Next time, you probably won't. Figure it out. If you're gonna hustle, you have to pay attention to your surroundings and know your own limits."

"Thanks for that, Big Jim." Neal snapped.

"You're welcome," he returned with mock cheerfulness. "I'm always happy to pass on my wisdom to slim fellows like you. Eventually, you might get there where you can thrash me, Slim." Maybe beat him at the game, but physically no way. Dean had grown up fighting things that were faster, meaner, and all around nastier than anything this kid could imagine. "But unless you wise up first, you'll be the one getting thrashed."

He could see the kid considering whether or not it was worth listening to a word Dean said. Whatever. He'd said his piece and whether or not Neal took his advice to heart wasn't his concern.

Instead, he relaxed against the booth and enjoyed the quiet. Once he joined back up with his dad and little brother, he would be lucky to get a few moments like this. They argued all the time. Dean was constantly playing the mediator, and it was wearing him down. Why couldn't they just get along?

Neal's soft voice drew him from his thoughts.

"I-I guess I could have been more careful."

"You guess?"

"Fine, I should have," Neal snapped, cheeks coloring pink. "I screwed up. It won't happen again."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, you will. But you'll learn."

"Here you go, boys," the waitress announced, placing their order on the table, cutting off whatever response Neal had. There was a bacon cheeseburger for Dean and a chicken sandwich for Neal. Neal took a bite of the sandwich and then started to devour it.

"Whoa there, tiger," Dean said, holding up a hand. "Slow down or you'll be getting acquainted with the head."

Neal grimaced, but obeyed. He swallowed and lowered the sandwich. "Personal experience?"

"Unfortunately. Trust me, eat slowly. No rush."

Not yet anyway. He still had a little time.

With Neal no longer gorging on his sandwich, Dean happily sunk his teeth into his burger. They ate in silence.

Dean's burger was half way gone when Neal spoke again.

"Thanks."

They locked gazes again. Dean smiled crookedly, knowing exactly what the kid was thanking him for.

"You're welcome."

* * *

_Thanks for reading!_

_Please let me know what you think. :)_

_Have a great day!_


	4. Chapter 4: 1998-1999

**Between Shadow and Light**

Summary: Sequel to **Secrets in Shadow**. Haunted by the case in Gettysburg, Detective Peter Burke seeks out Dean Winchester. What started out as trust and mutual respect soon becomes a deep friendship that changes them both. Includes Sam Winchester, Elizabeth Burke, Neal Caffrey, and a special guest appearance by John Winchester. Covers the years 1995-2010.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to their respective creators. I am merely borrowing and playing with them for a little while.

**A/N:** This story was originally written in drabble format and gradually morphed into a much bigger story than anticipated. As such, I combined the drabbles based on the year the drabble occurs or relevance.

**A/N:** To all my reviewers: Thank you so much for taking the time to comment! It means so much. Enjoy the new chapter. :)

* * *

**Chapter 4: 1998-1999**

* * *

_**July 1998**_

Peter was nervous by the time lunch rolled around. He had a date with the lovely Elizabeth Mitchell at a new Italian restaurant downtown. With some maneuvering on his part and extra hours working on the latest cases last night, he ensured as best he could he had a solid hour to spend with her. He wouldn't be called away. Again.

No, he _prayed_ he wouldn't be interrupted, Peter corrected, brow furrowing.

Unfortunately, his job was very demanding. The White Collar Division of the FBI was hardly considered as tough as some of the other divisions, particularly Violent Crime or Organized Crime, by most people, which wasn't true. Crime was high and the number of cases the division had handled in the past year since he had been there was staggering. Working in the White Collar division was not easy. It required critical thinking and analysis skills to figure out schemes for stealing money or jewels or paintings or other valuables. And somehow, inevitably, the big break in the case would come during lunch or supper, when he was with Elizabeth.

Elizabeth, bless her, understood completely. It was the strangest thing. The women Peter had dated in the past had always gotten fed up with his schedule, which really had not changed too much from the police department to the FBI. In fact, Peter was pretty sure he was working less than he had since he was sworn in as an undercover officer years ago. It was nothing short of amazing. _She_ was amazing.

And Peter had no intention of letting her go.

He already knew where he planned to propose. It was cheesy and cliché, but he hoped Elizabeth would like it anyway. Dean would no doubt tease him mercilessly if he found out, which he wouldn't. He may owe the kid for giving him the kick in the pants to realize he wanted to marry Elizabeth, but that didn't mean he was going to tell him every detail!

If he did find out…well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. With his luck, Dean would find out somehow. For living on the road, and often over a thousand miles away, it was disconcerting how much the young hunter knew sometimes.

A glance at his watch told him he was going to be even later if he didn't get moving.

Closing up the files, Peter grabbed his jacket and headed for the elevator.

* * *

_**June 1999**_

Peter Burke stood at the altar. His breath caught.

An angel in white was gliding down the aisle towards him.

Elizabeth Mitchell, soon to be Mrs. Elizabeth Burke, shone as she took his hand, her sapphire blue eyes glittering.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat. How had he gotten so lucky? Life was hardly a picnic, especially for Peter and any woman he had ever dated. His job was very demanding, challenging, and he loved it. He didn't know how to explain that to those past women, and he'd fumbled through more than one awkward date and relationship. Yet, somehow the woman standing at his side had seen through all his bumbling and fallen in love with him.

Elizabeth, the most amazing, kind, and beautiful woman Peter had ever known, loved _him_. Peter Burke. And here they were, about to become husband and wife. There wasn't a luckier or more blessed man on Earth.

The preacher began to speak and Peter sent up a silent prayer of thanksgiving. As they recited their vows, pledged to love each other, through sickness and health, through the good and the hard times, Peter felt fit to burst.

"You may kiss your bride."

Your bride. His bride. _His_ beautiful Elizabeth.

She smiled up at him, radiant and pure and happy. He wasted no time claiming her lips in a deep kiss.

Distantly he heard their families and friends let out a thundering cheer before it faded away as he lost himself in his new wife's embrace.

In the far back corner of the church, hidden in the shadows of the columns, a party crasher grinned with pride.

Quietly he turned and walked out.

A sly grin crossed his face as he walked down the church steps. He could only imagine Peter's face when the DJ went to play Dean Martin's "That's Amore" and Tracy Byrd's "Watermelon Crawl", and AC/DC's "Back in Black" and Steppenwolf's "Born to be Wild" came on instead.

Laughing, he climbed into a black '67 Chevy Impala and roared away.

* * *

_**Thanks for reading! **_

_**Please review?**_


	5. Chapter 5:1999-2000

**Between Shadow and Light**

Summary: Sequel to **Secrets in Shadow**. Haunted by the case in Gettysburg, Detective Peter Burke seeks out Dean Winchester. What started out as trust and mutual respect soon becomes a deep friendship that changes them both. Includes Sam Winchester, Elizabeth Burke, Neal Caffrey, and a special guest appearance by John Winchester. Covers the years 1995-2010.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to their respective creators. I am merely borrowing and playing with them for a little while.

**A/N:** This story was originally written in drabble format and gradually morphed into a much bigger story than anticipated. As such, I combined the drabbles based on the year the drabble occurs or relevance.

So here's another chapter since the previous one was so short. Enjoy! :)

* * *

**Chapter 5: 1999-2000**

* * *

_**October 1999**_

"Of all the asinine—"

"Hey, I saved your butt, Professor."

"And nearly got killed in the process!" Peter Burke, more commonly known as the Professor in the Winchester hunting circle, glared, his hands coming to rest on his hips.

"That's the job, dude. Hunting isn't exactly a safe gig, you know."

Peter snarled and turned away, pacing furiously at the end of the bed. Really, would it hurt the guy to show a little gratitude? Probably. Getting thanked for saving somebody's bacon was pretty rare since said person or persons was normally freaking out from the supernatural encounter. Just because he was kinda, sorta friends with the detective-turned-fed didn't mean he should expect anything from the man. The better you knew someone, the less grateful they were. Dean knew that from personal experience.

"I shouldn't have gotten you involved."

Okay, Peter was officially an idiot. "Burke, you're a friggin rookie! No way were you handling your first hunt without backup."

"I was hardly alone," Peter retorted. "The FBI—"

"Doesn't have a frigging clue! They would have been slaughtered the minute they stepped foot inside the house." Dean leveled a glare of his own at the FBI agent. "You know that! That's why you called in the first place. Right?"

Peter scowled and spun away to resume pacing.

Dean sighed in frustration. This was stupid. "Untwist your boxers, Peter. We're both here, alive and in one piece, and the poltergeist is gone for good."

Peter shook his head. "Dean, that doesn't give you a license to be reckless!"

Dean's brow knit. Reckless? He distracted the poltergeist so it didn't skewer Peter with a frigging spoon! It wasn't like he _intended_ to get thrown through a door. Actually, getting thrown through a door was pretty mild compared to getting thrown into antique china hutches or walls. The point was it worked. Peter was able to grab the shotgun and finish the job while Dean kept the thing busy.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know what."

"No, I'm pretty sure I don't," Dean growled, temper starting to fray. "You're mad. Fine, I get that. Leave and get back to your FBI desk and all those white collar crimes."

Peter froze mid-step. Slowly, he faced Dean. "You really don't get it, do you?"

Dean spread his hands in the universal gesture of 'what?' The older man sighed heavily.

"You could have been killed today."

Dean groaned, flopping back against the pillows. Geez, overreact much? "Peter, what do you want from me?"

"How about showing a little sense of self-preservation? You just said it yourself, hunting is not a safe career."

Wait, this whole thing was a result of Peter being worried about _him_? Apparently so because Peter was glaring at him, his expression screaming, '_You scared me, you moron!'_

Man, this was worse than dealing with Dad or Sam. Sam, at least, would say something in his nerdy, little brother way. Dad would either lecture him or order him through numerous more training regimes to increase his speed and response time. But Peter wasn't family and couldn't do any of that. He supposed he should be grateful Peter didn't instigate a chick-flick moment, but sheesh! And Sam complained about _him_ not expressing his feelings. He had nothing on Peter.

Dean carefully considered how to approach this. The FBI agent was not his little brother and would probably not handle his usual platitudes well. He wasn't like Dad either because Dad didn't ask for explanations, much less admit that he was scared or hurt. Dean was an expert at reading his dad, knowing when his dad needed him to lean on before he could straighten back up or when he was holding back. Peter was something else entirely. He was the closest thing Dean had to a friend. Friends worried about each other, right?

Ugh, he sucked at this kind of thing. How could he convince Peter everything was fine? He might as well be tap-dancing on ice.

Dean sat up, mindful of his bruised shoulder. "Peter, this job…everything we do is has a risk. From getting the information we need from the victims, to the actual take down."

"You can still minimize the risk."

"Sometimes," Dean conceded. Peter was no longer yelling. He counted that as a win. Now to pound into Peter's thick skull that risks like today were _normal_. "But most of the time you can't count on that. When you're hunting things that are stronger, faster, can throw a million things at you at once or just pop through walls—anything can happen."

Peter visibly deflated, sinking down on the edge of the bed.

"Why you?"

"Why me what?"

Brown eyes locked him in place. "Why do you have to take all the risk? No, don't. I know you do," he cut off Dean's protest with a raised up hand. "What you did today, drawing away the poltergeist, you did the same thing at Gettysburg. You're used to playing the bait, distracting things so someone else can take them out. Tell me I'm wrong."

Dean scrambled to come up with a response. How could he explain that it was his job to protect innocent people, his job to protect Sam and his dad and their few friends in particular with everything he had? Mom died because no one was protecting her. Dean had not been able to help her, but he could help other people now. No one else had to experience the loss that his family had. Not if he had anything to say about it.

He settled for a half shrug and a smirk. "I'm good at creating distractions."

Peter sighed, appearing torn between exasperation, annoyance, and concern. "Don't I know it!"

Dean grinned and Peter even smiled back somewhat. But it didn't last. "Be careful, Dean. I know you don't think anything of throwing your life in the way of danger, but at least remember there are people who care about you."

"I'll remember," Dean solemnly promised. And he would. Nevertheless he would not forget that his first responsibility was to protect and take care of them. If he fell in battle, then so be it. At least he would go down swinging. Not much more a hunter could ask for.

Seeming satisfied for the moment, Peter grabbed the remote off the television. "The Yankees were playing the Angels today. Maybe we can catch the last inning."

Chuckling, Dean settled back against the pillows, Peter resuming his spot at the edge of the bed as the game came on. He pretended not to notice that Peter was sitting close enough for Dean's boot to touch his side.

* * *

_**April 2000**_

She sat on a shaded bench along the park sidewalk, book forgotten in her lap as she watched her husband and Winchester dance around, the orange and black sphere in constant motion as it changed hands and bounced on the blacktop.

Elizabeth had been surprised, but pleased, to meet the mysterious Dean Winchester her husband would mention from time to time.

He had arrived at their apartment out of the blue that warm spring Saturday morning looking pale and exhausted.

The boy was very polite, addressing her as ma'am when he'd inquired about Peter. Dean had then flashed a smile Elizabeth knew could melt any woman with its charm. Despite that, he seemed almost shy. What she had noticed the most, however, were his eyes. His eyes were a lovely forest green tinged with gold, reflecting his every feeling and thought. Standing in the door of their apartment, those eyes reflected uncertainty and self-consciousness.

Elizabeth had liked him immediately.

When Peter joined them, he visibly relaxed. Elizabeth remembered Peter mentioning in passing that Dean did not trust easily and hardly let his guard down around people. A product of the harsh lifestyle he grew up in. Watching the young man speak and interact with her husband, it was clear Peter was one of the few he trusted. She smiled. Peter was great at inspiring trust in others. There was just something about her husband that made people feel safe.

Elizabeth closed her book in favor of fully focusing on the two players. The game had clearly stepped up a notch and both were sweating profusely, their cheeks pink from the sun and exertion as they ran up and down the court.

She could easily recall her shock when, one night after dinner, Peter told her how they met in Gettysburg and how Dean saved his life and the lives of two others. Peter had believed the boy to be twenty or so only to discover he was sixteen. Part of her found it difficult to believe Peter had not realized Dean was younger than he pretended. Surely there would have been signs of his young age! Peter had only shaken his head, conceding the possibility but not agreeing. He had been preoccupied at the time with the issue of a ghost stalking him. But Elizabeth could tell he didn't believe it for a second.

Now, having met him personally, Elizabeth could understand why Peter believed Dean was older. For one so young, he was incredibly old.

The ghost was another issue. Elizabeth knew Peter would never lie to her, but when he initially told her the story, she had been skeptical. It wasn't until a case came along involving an enraged, very dead banker turned poltergeist that Elizabeth began to believe. As she re-called, Dean had actually helped her husband on that case and saved his life while scaring the crap out of Peter in the process. She could still hear Peter's furious mutterings about unnecessary risk and the danger of the job, as well as how infuriating the younger man was. Dean had saved Peter though, and, despite how upsetting it was to know he was willing to put himself in jeopardy to protect, it was also a great comfort.

Peter was still technically a new agent, still forming bonds with his co-workers, and he didn't have anyone to watch his back except one Dean Winchester. A boy barely twenty-one-years old was hardly her idea of good backup, but Dean had proved more than capable. He was like a panther guarding from the shadows.

She wondered what Dean had seen, what he had done to become as he was. There was the obvious, of course, but Elizabeth was more interested in the unspoken pains and stories she saw in Dean's eyes.

More than once, Peter had referred to Dean as a puzzle, a mess of contradictions whose loud mouth concealed a great deal of truths through misdirection. From the little she had interacted with him, Elizabeth quickly deduced that it was largely due to Dean having to grow up too fast in a harsh environment. He was used to being overlooked and going without. Peter's attention was something relatively new, something Dean didn't seem to understand, but appreciated nonetheless. Around her, he was cautious, wary, even a bit of a cold. With time, she hoped that would fade and he would act natural around her. She was reasonably certain it would. Dean may act tough, but she had a feeling he was really a big softie just like her husband.

The game was over. A tie, if Elizabeth wasn't mistaken. As Peter and Dean shook hands and slapped each other's shoulders, she silently prayed he would find his way to New York more often. Anyone who could make her husband beam like that was welcome in her home.

Peter waved her over. She joined them, happily kissing her sweaty, smelly husband while Dean made a face.

Hand in hand, they started back home with Dean trailing along beside them, chattering about a John Wayne marathon that was supposed to be on that night that included _True Grit_ and _The Searchers_.

* * *

**_What do ya'll think?_**

**_Thanks for reading!_**


	6. Chapter 6: New Year's Eve 2001

**Between Shadow and Light**

Summary: Sequel to **Secrets in Shadow**. Haunted by the case in Gettysburg, Detective Peter Burke seeks out Dean Winchester. What started out as trust and mutual respect soon becomes a deep friendship that changes them both. Includes Sam Winchester, Elizabeth Burke, Neal Caffrey, and a special guest appearance by John Winchester. Covers the years 1995-2010.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to their respective creators. I am merely borrowing and playing with them for a little while.

**A/N:** This story was originally written in drabble format and gradually morphed into a much bigger story than anticipated. As such, I combined the drabbles based on the year the drabble occurs or relevance.

**A/N:** Thank you so much for the reviews, the favs, and alerts! :D I'm so glad ya'll are enjoying the story.

To my anonymous reviewers hh, Hannah, Winka, and Guest: thank you guys so much! I hope you continue to enjoy this story. :) And hh, no worries about the story ending too soon. I've figured it out and there will be fourteen chapters total. And after that, well, hopeful by next fall there will be another story, Lord willing. :)

* * *

**Chapter 6: New Year's Eve 2001**

* * *

"How's he doing, Sam?"

"Seems okay. You think we should feed him again?"

The _he_ in question was a golden Labrador puppy, about five weeks old, currently bundled in Sam's lap while his big brother navigated the Impala down the crazy New York streets.

Dean glanced over, reaching out a hand to rub the puppy's head lightly. The puppy whined and licked his hand.

"Hey there, boy," Dean rumbled and the puppy woofed softly. "I think he'll be okay until we get to the professor's."

"Are we almost there?"

"Fifteen minutes out." Dean put both hands back on the wheel again, and Sam took over stroking the puppy's head. Within moments, the puppy was asleep again.

The rest of the drive was spent in silence.

"Are you sure they'll want him?" Sam pulled the sleeping puppy closer as the Impala came to a stop outside the Burkes' apartment building, a wave of protectiveness rising inside him.

"Yeah, Sammy, I'm sure. They've been talking about getting a dog for months," Dean assured him. "Let's go. I want to get out of here before the fireworks start."

Right, it was New Year's Eve; the start of a new year full of fresh possibilities for everyone, unless of course you were a Winchester.

Sam forcefully swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat and climbed out of the Impala.

Dean had already come around and pulled the small bag of supplies they'd collected for the pup from the backseat. Dean gave his brother a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before leading the way inside. He watched his brother pull out a key and unlock the front door. Where did Dean get that? Sam highly doubted the professor would just give his brother a copy. Dean must have stolen it and copied it himself. Sam scowled when Dean opened the door with a flourish and gestured for Sam to go in.

As they rode the elevator up, Sam's mind churned with what-ifs. Ever since he could remember, Sam had wanted a dog. The Winchester gypsy lifestyle, however, made keeping a dog, any pet actually, impossible. Sam hated it. Absolutely hated it! It was one of the many reasons he wanted to leave and go away to school. Out from under his dad's thumb, he could do what he wanted, live like a normal, safe person. He could have a fresh start; could have a dog if he wanted to.

He absently fiddled with the edge of the puppy blanket. At his counselor's insistence, he'd sent out applications to four major Ivy League colleges: Princeton, Harvard, Stanford, and Yale. He'd also sent applications to the University of Texas and the University of Phoenix. One of them would answer, maybe more than one his counselor assured him. His grades were fantastic, and he'd scored extremely high on the last SAT. The fact he had changed schools so often and managed to keep his grades high would definitely attract their attention. Sam certainly hoped that was true. He had to get out soon, or he didn't know what he would do.

"Sam wears ladies underwear."

"What? No, I don't!" Sam automatically snapped. Dean wasn't the least bit repentant as he tugged on Sam's arm. "Glad to have you back, Samantha. Come on, this is the professor's floor."

Oh. Sam didn't even realize the elevator had stopped.

He hastily followed his older brother as he headed down the hallway. At apartment 34 A Dean paused and knocked. Sam almost asked why he didn't just walk right in. Instead, he bit his tongue and checked on the puppy that had woken at the sound and was peering out of the blanket curiously.

The door swung open revealing a beautiful dark-haired woman with the most striking blue eyes Sam had ever seen. Politeness gave way to surprised delight.

"Dean!"

"Hey, Elizabeth."

"We weren't expecting you. Come on in," Elizabeth invited warmly. "Peter and I were just getting ready for the countdown."

"Thanks."

The brothers followed her inside. A well-built man about the same size as John Winchester came to meet them, his annoyance plain. He barely even looked at Sam before he zeroed in on Dean.

"Dean, what are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, Professor."

Before Peter could respond, Elizabeth spoke up. "Who's this?"

She was looking at Sam and the bundle of now squirming puppy. Sam shifted his hold so the puppy could see the two new people. The pup woofed. Sam could feel his tail trying to wag within the confines of the blanket.

"This is my little brother, Sam. And that," Dean pointed, "is the reason we're here."

Elizabeth stepped forward, reaching out a small hand for the puppy to sniff, looking first at Sam and then the puppy. "It's nice to meet you both."

"Yeah, you too." Sam was pretty sure she was more excited about the puppy than him. Bright blue eyes were glued to the puppy as she started petting its head.

"Why do you have a puppy?" the professor asked, suspicious.

"Found him on the side of the road and rescued him," Dean explained, voice becoming clipped. "You guys have been talking about getting a dog so I figured you might like to take him."

Found and rescued was an understatement. Sam could still see his macho big brother storming into the motel room, two precious pups wrapped in his jacket as he ordered Sam to get the first aid kit. Dean had been driving back to the motel after finishing up a job when he saw something thrown out the window of a speeding car. He told Sam he was suspicious, so he had stopped to investigate. What he found left him horrified and furious. Dean had not offered any further details. Not that he had needed to. Sam got the picture.

Peter and Elizabeth exchanged glances, probably deducing the same thing Sam had. "How old is he?" Elizabeth asked.

"The vet guessed he's about five weeks old. He's only partially weaned," Sam said. He shuddered, remembering the visit to the vet. Dean and he had cleaned up the puppies the best they could and took them to the local veterinary clinic. It was too late for one puppy, the damage too severe. Sam wasn't ashamed to admit he cried when the doctor put the puppy out of its misery. The other puppy, the one in his arms, was luckier.

Dean swung the bag off his shoulder, opening it up. "Doc gave us this to help take care of him."

Inside were a special bottle, formula, blankets, and everything else a puppy would need. Sam had even been able to talk his big brother into stopping and getting the pup some toys.

Elizabeth motioned to the pup. "May I?"

"Of course." Sam moved closer so the woman could extract the puppy from the blanket.

"We can't have a dog until we get a house, El," Peter cut in gently.

"But Peter, we have found a house!" Elizabeth protested, dodging the pup's wet tongue as he tried to lick her face, keeping her focus on her husband. "We're making an offer Thursday. I know they'll take. Then we can move right away."

Sam watched as Elizabeth cuddled the golden pup, cooing and stroking it gently while the pup happily licked her chin, hands, anything in reach really. Love at first sight. Judging by Dean's smug grin and Peter's annoyed glare that was exactly what Dean had been counting on. The corners of his mouth tugged up.

Elizabeth turned pleading eyes to her husband. Mentally, Sam counted down the seconds until the professor's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I'll talk with the landlord in the morning."

The woman promptly kissed her husband. "Thank you, Peter!"

She plunked the puppy in Peter's arms. Peter stared at the puppy, looking like he'd just been handed a box of Acme dynamite. It was amusing to watch the array of emotions crossing the professor's face until settling on exasperated acceptance.

"Ahhh!" Peter swore, holding the puppy out away from his body as a yellow stream of liquid shot out.

Sam and Dean doubled over laughing while Elizabeth, struggling to smother her own laughter, took the puppy from him.

"See? He loves his new daddy already," she declared.

Peter leveled an accusing glare that was the equivalent to Superman's death ray on Dean. His big brother only laughed harder.

Elizabeth took the puppy and the bag into the kitchen area, calling over her shoulder. "Hurry up and change honey. I'm going to feed our new baby real quick. We don't want to miss the fireworks."

The expression on the older man's face was priceless.

Dean slapped Peter on the shoulder. "Congratulations, Peter! It's a boy."

The professor was flabbergasted, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Snickering, Sam headed into the kitchen. Behind him, he heard Dean tell Peter, "Better set up a corner with some newspapers unless you want him watering your shirt again."

Elizabeth had already gotten the formula out and was opening the bottle while balancing the pup on her hip.

"Can I help?"

"Oh, yes, thank you. There's a saucepan in the cupboard there." She jerked her head toward the cupboard behind her. "Would you get it please?"

Sam nodded and retrieved the pan. Together, they got the formula mixed and warming over the stove. On the other side of the apartment, Peter was changing his shirt and ordering Dean to gather the newspapers and move furniture from the corner. Dean seemed quite content to listen, sending teasing barbs and comments at the older man the whole time, which were heartily returned. Sam could only catch snippets of what was actually said, but it was enough.

"Dean wasn't joking when he said you're like a bean pole. You're as tall as my husband!"

Sam startled. He glanced at Elizabeth. "Dean talks about me?"

"All the time," the brunette replied. "He's very proud of you."

He felt a flush of pride and guilt at that. Dean was proud of him? Would he still be proud of him if he got into college? Sam pushed those thoughts away. He didn't want to think about that.

"I'm sorry, but how long have you known my brother? I mean, I remember meeting Peter a few years ago, but he wasn't married then."

Elizabeth leaned back against the sink, relaxed as can be while the pup suckled the bottle. "Dean and I met about a year ago when he stopped by to visit. I knew about him and you, of course, beforehand thanks to Peter."

"Huh." That was disturbing. How could Peter talk about Dean or Sam when it involved the supernatural? When did Dean have a chance to see Peter and meet Elizabeth anyway? His big brother was always with Dad or him. Now that he thought about it, Dean did seem awfully comfortable with the Burkes. Sam's brow furrowed.

"You didn't know." Elizabeth was looking at him, curious and confused.

"No, I, uh, just didn't realize Dean…" he almost said '_had any friends_', but switched to, "kept in touch."

Blue eyes sharpened. Sam shifted his weight a little.

"Yeah, I suppose it is a bit surprising. They're like polar opposites one minute and the next they're two peas in a pod." Elizabeth shook her head fondly.

If she didn't have his full attention before, she certainly did now. Sam wanted to inquire further but didn't have the chance. The puppy was finished with its dinner and squirming to get down.

Laughing, Elizabeth set him on the floor. "Okay, Satchmo. Go find your daddy."

The pup scampered out into the main room with a woof. There was a worried squawk from Peter, a laugh from Dean, and then the two men were trying to herd the pup toward the corner they prepared. Sam and Elizabeth exchanged amused grins as they watched the antics.

"Satchmo?"

"My favorite Jazz singer," Elizabeth explained.

Sam laughed.

Dean was right. The Burkes were the perfect people for a puppy beginning a new life. He could only hope when he went to college he found people as accepting as them. Sam wasn't so worried about Dean anymore either. With friends like these, he would be fine when Sam left.

Yeah, he'd be fine.

* * *

_**Thanks for reading!**_

_**Please review and let me know what you think. :)**_


	7. Chapter 7: December 2003

**Between Shadow and Light**

Summary: Sequel to **Secrets in Shadow**. Haunted by the case in Gettysburg, Detective Peter Burke seeks out Dean Winchester. What started out as trust and mutual respect soon becomes a deep friendship that changes them both. Includes Sam Winchester, Elizabeth Burke, Neal Caffrey, and a special guest appearance by John Winchester. Covers the years 1995-2010.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to their respective creators. I am merely borrowing and playing with them for a little while.

**A/N:** This story was originally written in drabble format and gradually morphed into a much bigger story than anticipated. As such, I combined the drabbles based on the year the drabble occurs or relevance.

* * *

**Chapter 7: December 2003**

* * *

It was supposed to be an easy hunt; _should_ have been an easy hunt. But n_oooooooo_! The Winchester luck had to strike again.

Dean stifled a groan, shivering in the cold. He hated hunting in the winter, in the snow, and especially at night. Hated it! For some reason he always ended up bleeding and coughing and freezing. _**Every single time**_.

Currently the snow was soaking through his jeans and well on the way to turning him into a human popsicle.

Friggin vetalas! Good thing they were already dead or Dean would empty an entire clip of silver bullets in them just because. Note to self, they hunt in pairs, not alone. He would have to add a post-it to his dad's journal entry. _When_ he met up with him again, he corrected with a wince.

For a moment the aching emptiness filled him. Dad was off on some hunt and unreachable. Sammy was at Stanford and refusing to speak to him.

_Don't think, move! Unless of course you want to impersonate Mister Freeze?_

Gritting his teeth, Dean got to his feet and started staggering back towards the car. He'd come back later and take care of the bodies. Right now he just needed to get warm. Snow wasn't too deep. That was nice. No new snow coming down either. Also a good thing. On the other hand, the ice was slippery and determined to send him flying to land on his butt again. Or maybe that was because his head was still spinning from whatever poison the vetala pumped him with before he took the second one down. It wasn't fatal, was it? He didn't think so…

He could see the Impala.

"Oh baby, you're a sight for sore eyes," he muttered as he wobbled towards the driver's door. Keys, he needed his keys. It took longer than he would have liked, his fingers uncooperative, but eventually he managed to get the door unlocked and clambered in.

Dean slumped inside, relishing the warmth. Definitely better than outside.

Blearily, he blinked his eyes. Everything was fuzzy. That didn't seem good. He needed to get warm. Inserting the keys in the ignition, Dean turned on the heat. Now, he needed to find a blanket. He couldn't drive like this. That meant he would have to wait until the serum wore off. Frigging peachy!

Well, first things first. It took some wriggling, but he managed to get the jeans off and pooled around his boots. Next, he peeled off his soaked jacket and over shirts, letting them drop on the floor. He was gasping for breath and shivering by the time he got the last one off. Tiny knives pricked his exposed skin, his chest tight with the cold.

Dean quickly tugged the extra blanket he stored under the front seat out and wrapped it around himself. Between the heat and blanket, the knife stabbing gradually died down to toothpick stabbing.

A sharp noise cut through the air, making him jump.

Wha-?

He blinked and gave himself a shake. He recognized that tune. It was AC/DC. His cellphone.

Fumbling through his jacket pockets, it took a few minutes to fish the stupid thing out. By then he'd missed the call. Whoever it was, however, was persistent because a few seconds after it stopped, it started ringing again. He growled. It was really making his head hurt!

He managed to flip it open and answer gruffly. "Yeah?"

"Dean? It's Elizabeth."

Elizabeth? Who was—right, the professor's wife. Why was she calling him?

"Peter and I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas."

Huh? Did he ask that aloud or was Elizabeth just psychic?

"Thanks," he mumbled. He was supposed to say something back. What was it? Oh yeah. "M'rry Christma'."

Christmas? He wracked his brain, trying to remember when Christmas came around. Wasn't it just Thanksgiving? He couldn't remember. Well, at least he knew why he'd spent the evening hunting in Tim Burton's version of winter wonderland.

"Dean? Are you all right? Dean, sweetie, talk to me."

Dean came back to himself, feeling weaker and more exhausted than ever. Did Elizabeth sound worried? He grunted instead of answering, intent on lying across the Impala bench and closing his eyes for a few minutes. Maybe he should try grabbing the blanket in the back seat…was there a blanket in the back seat? Oh, he already had a blanket around him. Maybe another was a good idea.

"Dean!"

That was definitely not Elizabeth. Elizabeth's voice was light and threaded with warmth and concern. Not to mention she was a woman. The person now bellowing in his ear was most definitely male and very demanding.

"What?" he grumbled. No sir. The man wasn't a sir. He was something else. Who was it Elizabeth mentioned earlier? Perry? Paul? No, those weren't right.

In the background, he heard Elizabeth's worried voice. "Peter, what do we do?"

"Pe'er?"

Peter…right, Peter the Professor! Or the detective now FBI agent depending on who you asked. Personally, Dean liked calling him Professor. If he didn't think of him as law enforcement, then it was easier to trust him...and safer too. He couldn't remember why though.

"Yeah, buddy, it's me. How are you doing?"

"Head hurts," he slurred, biting back a moan as his head spun. "Stupid thing dosed me 'fore I killed it."

"Something dosed you? With poison?"

"'talas hunt in pairs. Bad info," he explained gruffly. He tried to shift his legs, but couldn't. Why couldn't he move them?

"Dean! Dean, stay with me, buddy." Peter's worried but demanding tone drew his attention. "What did it? A tala?"

Didn't Peter listen? He shook his head. Big mistake. Everything spun like crazy, though how the dark could spin he wasn't sure. Why didn't it just _stop_?

"Okay, okay, breathe, Dean. Breathe slowly. Come on."

Dean obeyed the voice the best he could. Once his breathing evened out, Dean felt his body starting to relax. It was still cold though. He wished it would warm up!

"Hey, Dean, don't go blacking out on me now."

The voice was back, demanding as ever. _Go away_! _Wanna sleep_.

"No sleeping. Come on. Tell me about this poison."

Poison? Wha—right, the vetalas.

"No' fa'al," Dean mumbled. Huh? He tried to remember how he knew that but gave up a moment later, too tired to think.

"It's not fatal? So it's just meant to paralyze?"

He grunted an affirmative, too tired to attempt more. There was some mumbling in reply. Two voices. Nice voices, Dean thought. He just wished they would leave him alone and let him sleep.

"Dean. Dean, you with me, buddy?"

"Mmmhmmm."

"Caleb's on his way to you. He said you were working a job in Bethel, Maine?"

Dean hummed again.

"Okay. He's on his way. Just a couple hours out. Dean? Dean!"

The voice faded away as blissful nothingness finally overtook him.

~:~:~:~:~

When awareness finally returned, Dean wished he could fall back into the blissful nothing of before. He felt like he got run over by a giant tractor, and then the tractor had backed over him for good measure.

"Dean? You awake?"

That wasn't his dad or little brother. He groaned and began the process of prying his eyes open. When they finally peeled apart, he was greeted by two unexpected, concerned faces.

"How are you feeling, sweetie?"

Elizabeth Burke rested a cool, gentle hand on his forehead. Dean's throat closed, mind swept back to a time long ago, when a beautiful woman with golden hair and blue eyes smiled and hugged him, always patient and loving. Jerkily, he nodded and attempted a shrug.

Her face softened as she patted his cheek gently before withdrawing. If his throat wasn't imitating the Sahara Desert, he may well have begged her not to.

"Drink this."

Peter stepped forward from somewhere off to the right, a Dixie cup in his hand that he pressed to Dean's lips.

Water never tasted so good.

"Thanks," he croaked when he finished.

"No problem."

"Are you hungry? I can make some soup," Elizabeth offered.

Dean struggled to get his laden brain to think. He was missing something, he was sure of it. But soup actually sounded pretty good. He nodded. Elizabeth patted his arm and then disappeared out of the room. With her departure, Dean took the time to really take stock of his situation. This was not a hospital and certainly not the motel room he'd been living in for the past week.

"Where—?"

"Our guestroom," Peter replied from his perch at the end of the bed.

Guestroom? As in, this was…"Your house?"

Peter nodded solemnly.

"Oh."

That was…nice. Really nice. Did that mean he was in New York? That wasn't right. He was…somewhere else before. Maine. He had been on a job in Maine.

Something cold and wet touched his hand. He glanced down to see a pair of big brown eyes in a golden face peering up at him.

"Hey, Satch." He weakly rubbed the dog's ear. "Gotten big, mutt."

The golden lab licked his hands in response, tail going back and forth like a windmill.

"Don't scare us like that again."

The non sequitur dragged Dean's attention from the dog to Peter. He noticed then the tired lines and five o'clock shadow growing along the older man's jawline. Dean lowered his head, guilt bounding through him. He wanted to apologize, but he had no idea what he was sorry for. Everything was muddled in his brain.

"I don't, uh…" Dean weakly shook his head. He didn't remember.

Thankfully, Peter understood because he explained. "Caleb said you were hunting some a rare monster called a vetala. It poisoned you before you could kill it. Caleb found you in your car."

Peter's words were like the opening of a spillway as the memories started coming back; slow at first and then faster and faster. Horrified, he remembered why Elizabeth had called in the first place.

"Did you miss—did I—?"

Peter hummed. "Not all of it. There's still a few hours left of Christmas."

Dean winced. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, Dean," Elizabeth said, coming in with the soup, catching the end of their conversation. "Peter and I are just relieved you're okay. If we hadn't called—"

She didn't finish, but it wasn't necessary. Dean knew that he owed them, and Caleb, his life.

"If you feel up to it later, you can come downstairs. We'll celebrate together," Elizabeth said, helping Dean sit up and lean against the headboard.

Did she really just—no, he was hearing things. But one look at Elizabeth's face and a glance at Peter confirmed they were serious. "Um, sure."

The Burkes beamed.

Funny, his belly was feeling awfully warm. He hadn't even tried the soup.

* * *

_**Thanks for reading. :)**_

_**Please review! **_

_**Have a great day!**_


	8. Chapter 8: 2004

**Between Shadow and Light**

Summary: Sequel to **Secrets in Shadow**. Haunted by the case in Gettysburg, Detective Peter Burke seeks out Dean Winchester. What started out as trust and mutual respect soon becomes a deep friendship that changes them both. Includes Sam Winchester, Elizabeth Burke, Neal Caffrey, and a special guest appearance by John Winchester. Covers the years 1995-2010.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to their respective creators. I am merely borrowing and playing with them for a little while.

**A/N:** This story was originally written in drabble format and gradually morphed into a much bigger story than anticipated. As such, I combined the drabbles based on the year the drabble occurs or relevance.

**A/N 2:** Thank you so much, everyone who has reviewed, favorited, or put this story on alert!

**_To everyone on the east coast who was effected by the storms, you are in my prayers. This chapter is dedicated to all of you._**

* * *

**Chapter 8: 2004**

* * *

**June**

Five years. They had been married for five years. How the time had flown!

Elizabeth snuggled against Peter's strong chest, reveling in his presence. He was so busy nowadays, on the trail of the elusive forger and con nicknamed James Bonds. Recently, Peter had discovered his real name: Neal Caffrey.

It was a good name, the name of an artist.

But she hated sharing her husband during the cat and mouse game Caffrey pulled Peter into. Hated it!

Peter made a noise, turning towards her, arms tightening.

Elizabeth smiled and kissed him gently.

Despite the hardships that came with being the wife of an FBI agent, she had no regrets. She was happy with her life, with the choice she had made to accept Peter's proposal. He was a special man, a rare breed. Before Peter, she had been approached by, and dated, many different men, and they all had one thing in common: shallowness. Faux grins and expensive clothes and talk that held less water than a goldfish bowl. Peter was different. From the moment she'd met him, she knew he was different. Granted, he was interviewing her about the robbery at the gallery she was working at, but it had still proved to be very enlightening.

Stifling a giggle, she remembered how he did not have the courage to ask her out. She had to give him a hint. Holding up a sign that said _I love Italian_ on the street because she knew Peter was watching her and taking surveillance photos was certainly unconventional. But she was proud to say it had worked! Peter had gotten out and sheepishly approached, asking her to dinner at long last. She'd gladly accepted.

That first date was near and dear to her heart. Peter's awkwardness, his genuine curiosity about her job, and in her, had been refreshing. He hid nothing from her, even then. Half-way through the meal he'd gotten a call from the FBI concerning a lead about the thief who stole the painting from her gallery. It was her first taste of what life was like with an FBI agent, especially one so dedicated to his work.

Broken promises to arrive on time, distraction when a particular puzzle caught his attention, all night stake outs, pursuing dangerous suspects, and the list went on. He always made it up to her, always did his very best to please and surprise her. The hidden romantic in him in particular was a joy to find. It was not perfect, neither of them was faultless, but they worked. Elizabeth felt whole with Peter. Complete. And she wouldn't trade that for anything in the world.

Her phone buzzed suddenly, interrupting her musings.

Confused, she reached around Peter and picked it up.

One new voicemail. Odd. She didn't recall hearing it ring.

She hit the button to retrieve the message and held it to her ear. Absently her fingers traced Peter's muscled chest while she waited.

A voice belonging to the last person she expected to hear from started speaking.

"_Hey, Professor. Little Sister. Just, uh, wanted to say, I, uh, hope you guys have a good anniversary_." There was some mumbling and then the message abruptly ended.

Elizabeth stared at the phone, stunned. He remembered.

She started giggling.

Peter woke, sleepy and confused. "Honey?"

The brunette grinned broadly. "Big Fella called to wish us a happy anniversary."

"Big Fel—Dean?" Peter exclaimed, all traces of sleep disappearing. "He called?"

"Yep," Elizabeth giggled. "Here."

She played the message again for Peter. By the end they were both rolling with laughter.

* * *

**October**

Peter was sitting at his dining room table, pouring over the information from Europol as well as his own notes. Wearily, he rubbed his forehead with one hand while the other flipped to the next page of the report.

It was late and Elizabeth had long gone to bed for the night. Peter wished he could join her, but he was restless, mind churning as he tried to piece together Neal Caffrey's current movements. He'd only be tossing and turning in bed, disturbing her and keeping her from a good night's sleep. He couldn't do that to her. She deserved to sleep uninterrupted after the long day she had hosting that gallery opening.

Frustrated, Peter threw down his pen. He was getting nowhere. Neal's last known location was in Corsica, France. But the past few weeks there was absolutely nothing. Not even an audacious international phone call! The young con was obviously laying low after his last heist. That worried him more than anything else. With all that time on his hands there was no telling what new scheme and crazy stunts the boy could come up with!

Peter needed some way to get him moving again. If he was running, he had less time to plan, and eventually he would slip up. But how? He had no idea where Caffrey disappeared to. He rubbed his aching eyes. What he really needed was some advice. Normally he would ask Elizabeth. She was his best adviser. But she was tucked away snuggly in bed. That left who? Who else would be up at this time of the night?

He wracked his brain. Come on, there had to be someone…

Dean!

He grabbed his cell phone and dialed the hunter. If there was anyone who could help him right now, it was Dean Winchester.

"Yeah."

"Hey Dean, I need some advice on a case."

A garbled grumble, then, "Man, you're lucky I was already awake. This isn't about the Caffrey case again, is it?"

The young hunter knew him too well.

"Unfortunately. He's in Europe."

"So, still not your jurisdiction. Did he call you again? Send a postcard? Fake his death again?"

"No, no, and thank God, no. I've told you, he's an American citizen. Technically—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. What do you need?"

Peter could just see Dean impatiently waving away his reasons, and he half smiled.

"He's gone to ground after his latest great heist. Europol's had nothing for almost three weeks. No sightings, no whispers, nada. There's been no sighting of him coming back to the States, so I believe he's still over there somewhere."

"Is he the one who robbed that island or something I saw on the news a month ago?"

"Yes." Not that there was any proof, but Peter knew it was Caffrey. It made the news in the United States for crying out loud! That sort of stunt was Caffrey to a T.

"Huh. He pissed a lot of people off, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did."

Peter headed towards to the kitchen. He pulled a cold beer from the fridge and took off the cap. The beer was cool and burned going down his throat.

"So why call me? You're the one with a badge and all the government resources, Professor."

"Because I need to figure out how to find him, get him moving again. I can't do that unless I have some idea where he went."

Peter could practically hear the other man's eyes rolling.

"And what, I'm supposed to magically have the answer? Sorry, dude, I don't have that kind of mojo."

The agent exhaled. "I need to find him."

_Before he gets himself hurt._

Silence fell on the other end. Peter sank back down into his chair with a sigh. He took another swallow of beer, attention glued to the neatly typed numbers and words, willing them to tell him something more than the nothing they already had.

"Bluff him."

"What?"

"Make him think you're closing in or Europol is or something. If he thinks they're on to him—"

"He'll run!" Peter interrupted excitedly. "And when he runs, he'll—"

"Expose himself," Dean finished. "That's your best shot."

"Thanks, Dean."

A week later, Peter silently crowed with success. It worked! Caffrey was on the run again, and Europol was tracking him once more. It was only a matter of time now before Caffrey returned to the States. Then the game would be up.

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_**Thanks for reading! :)**_

_**Please let me know what you think.**_


	9. Chapter 9: 2005

**Between Shadow and Light**

Summary: Sequel to **Secrets in Shadow**. Haunted by the case in Gettysburg, Detective Peter Burke seeks out Dean Winchester. What started out as trust and mutual respect soon becomes a deep friendship that changes them both. Includes Sam Winchester, Elizabeth Burke, Neal Caffrey, and a special guest appearance by John Winchester. Covers the years 1995-2010.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to their respective creators. I am merely borrowing and playing with them for a little while.

**A/N:** This story was originally written in drabble format and gradually morphed into a much bigger story than anticipated. As such, I combined the drabbles based on the year the drabble occurs or relevance.

**A/N 2:** Thank you so much, everyone who has reviewed, favorited, or put this story on alert!

* * *

**Chapter 9: 2005**

* * *

**May**

He added the final brush stroke to the ship and stepped back to admire his work.

Perfect! The piece looked just like Aivazosky's original painting. Next step, aging it. _Seashore night. The lighthouse in 1837 _would be complete and ready. A proud grin split the blue-eyed youth's face as he wiped his paint-smeared hands clean on a rag. It was just the piece for the next con when he was reunited with Kate.

Neal's smile dried up, his teeth catching his lower lip. He needed to see her again, to be able to hold her and taste her. How would she react? What would she say? She wouldn't reject him. He loved her, and she loved him, he knew she did. Neal had made a mistake when he didn't tell her about Alex and the job in Copenhagen. But his biggest mistake was going without her.

He had to get her back; he had to tell her that he loved her and make it up to her.

Did she hear about the theft of Raphael's _St. George and the Dragon_? It was their painting after all, the one they had talked about when they first met. More importantly, it was Kate's favorite art work. Once they were together again, he would present the painting to her as a gift. She'd love it. She would.

He looked at the painting he just finished. Kate was like the lighthouse, his light and hope and love. He was the ship stranded at sea and desperately trying to reach shore. Only…the lighthouse had hidden its light.

Neal closed his eyes, mentally pulling up one of his favorite memories of Kate. After a successful heist over a year ago, they had celebrated with a glass of wine on the roof. He could still see how the moonlight caressed every curve of her gorgeous face, how it reflected in her eyes making them bluer than cornflowers. Kate was a true vision of beauty, much like Aphrodite or Artemis from the Greek myths.

Sirens cut through his thoughts. Not that it was unusual to hear police sirens in New York. In general, Neal didn't concern himself with them unless they were coming for him. A quick glance out the window confirmed they weren't coming today.

Neal set the painting aside. Later, he silently vowed. In the meantime, he needed to plan something else, a real slick, grand, challenging heist that Kate would hear about and know he orchestrated. Something that would remove the sheet covering her light, hiding her from his sight...

An unopened tube of red paint caught his eye. An idea began to form.

Rubies in Burma! Of course! Perfect.

He'd tell Moz first thing in the morning.

* * *

**November**

It was just another day: looking for the next hunt, calling his dad and talking to his voicemail for the hundredth time, trying to distract Sam from his brooding thoughts and guilt about Jessica.

He stepped inside the grocery store and was blasted with the splashes of harvest reds, oranges, and yellows and giant cardboard turkeys. Thanksgiving was today. The store was full of last minute shoppers rushing to get those final ingredients and trimmings they'd forgotten.

Instinct told him to turn around and head to the local gas mart. Something made him stay. He needed to do something. For Sam. Maybe some pie? Pie was always good.

~:~:~:~:~:~:~

It was just another holiday.

Elizabeth had sent him out at the last minute to get the whipped cream for the pie. He shook his head fondly. Usually it was him forgetting things! It wasn't that surprising truthfully. With Elizabeth's parents, her sister and her husband, and Peter's father, aunt, and uncle, all visiting, the Burke household was the center of chaos.

Normally a crowd like this would wear on him quickly, but not this time. He was grateful to have the chance to spend a day with them after the past few crazy months. Between the flood of new cases and Caffrey's trial, he was more than ready for a break. Peter couldn't remember how many holidays he'd been forced to miss because of a case. Actually being able to spend the whole holiday with his wife and family was a rare blessing. One he intended to enjoy.

~:~:~:~:~:~:~

"What's all this?"

"Dinner. Thought you might like some KFC for a change," Dean said, giving his brother a plate full of chicken, potatoes doused in gravy, and two biscuits. "I stopped and got you this too." He plopped the McDonald's shake-up salad in front of his brother. Sam loved his greens. "And for desert," he proudly pulled the most important item out of the bag, "we have pumpkin pie."

Dean ignored Sam's suspicious gaze as he set the pie aside. He started filling his own plate with food, acting completely normal. Eventually, Sam grabbed a fork and started to eat.

Satisfied, Dean settled on the bed and flipped on the television and found SyFy's James Bond movie marathon. Awesome.

_Thunderball_ was ending when Dean dished up the pie. Sam absently poked at his piece, withdrawn and brooding, but at least he was eating. He went to bed an hour later, claiming exhaustion. Sam really was, Dean knew, because the kid was barely sleeping. So he let it go. Cleaning up, Dean paused by his brother's bedside and let his fingers stroke his baby brother's hair for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Sammy."

Sorry for Jessica. Sorry that his baby brother was hurting and there was nothing he could do besides be there for him. Dean was not sorry he saved Sam. He could never be sorry for that, even when his heart broke because of the pain Sam was in. If there was one thing he was thankful for, it was that Sam was here with him, safe and alive. With their rough life, he couldn't ask for more.

~:~:~:~:~:~:~

"Elizabeth, you have outdone yourself." William Burke toasted Peter's wife.

A chorus of agreement went up from the rest of the table, glasses full of wine rising in a mutual toast. Elizabeth blushed. "Thank you!"

Peter reached out and took her hand in his, squeezing gently. She beamed and Peter's heart burst with love for this gorgeous, smart, and kind woman.

"Dad's right, El. Everything is delicious."

They kissed. "I'm glad you approve," she purred in his ear. Peter grinned. "I do." Another kiss and then the Burkes resumed eating the meal.

Peter surveyed the table, the smiles and joking expressions, the clink of the silverware on Elizabeth's favorite china set, the tang of pumpkin spice, turkey, and cranberries thick in the air. Beside him, Elizabeth glowed as she chatted with her sister about who knows what. He settled back against his chair, content to just watch everyone.

There were only two people missing from the gathering. Peter hoped that, wherever the brothers were, they were happy. Maybe next year, the Winchesters could join them for the holiday.

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_**To everyone in the states, an early Happy Thanksgiving! :D**_

_**Thanks for reading.**_

_**Please review?**_


	10. Chapter 10: 2006

**Between Shadow and Light**

Summary: Sequel to **Secrets in Shadow**. Haunted by the case in Gettysburg, Detective Peter Burke seeks out Dean Winchester. What started out as trust and mutual respect soon becomes a deep friendship that changes them both. Includes Sam Winchester, Elizabeth Burke, Neal Caffrey, and a special guest appearance by John Winchester. Covers the years 1995-2010.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to their respective creators. I am merely borrowing and playing with them for a little while.

**A/N:** This story was originally written in drabble format and gradually morphed into a much bigger story than anticipated. As such, I combined the drabbles based on the year the drabble occurs or relevance.

* * *

**Chapter 10: 2006**

* * *

** March**

He jumped when his phone started ringing. Blearily he grabbed for it and stumbled out of bed towards the bathroom. Sammy was asleep for once and Dean had no intention of waking him. Kid didn't get enough sleep, not with nightmares chasing him every night.

"'Lo?"

"Dean Michael Winchester!"

All sleepiness was immediately banished. Elizabeth. Crap! He quickly closed the bathroom door and turned on the faucet.

"Uh, hey, El, listen…"

"Don't you 'hey, El' me, young man."

Dean winced. Yeah, she was definitely pissed.

"Do you realize what you just put Peter and me through?"

"Elizabeth—"

"The news is saying you're a murderer, a serial killer! That someone shot you dead!" Her voice cracked.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," Dean said softly, guilt flooding him. "I meant to call, but it was a long drive, and Sammy and I both needed to crash. I didn't think you'd hear about it in New York so fast."

Actually, he hadn't thought about calling at all. Not really. There were too many other, more pressing problems on his mind. His dad disappearing off the grid, the murder of Sam's girlfriend in the exact same way as Mom…it was too much of a coincidence. Dean had instinctively fallen back on his training and gone off the grid too. Peter was an FBI agent, and Dean would have loved to have access to his resources, but Peter was a straight shooter. Always was. He wasn't going to ask Peter to lie and risk losing his job to help Dean track down his dad. Besides, the feds hadn't been able to pin his dad down in twenty years; he doubted that would change. So he'd dropped contact with the Burkes.

"No, you didn't intend to call."

Dean silently cursed Elizabeth's perceptiveness. It was impossible to keep a secret from the woman!

"It's complicated," Dean replied, scrubbing his face. He should explain at least some of it so they knew why Dean had gone radio silent, but the fatigue was catching up with him again. Stupid shapeshifter!

A beat of silence.

Then, "What really happened in St. Louis?"

A soft sigh escaped his lips. "Hold on a minute."

He turned off the water and slipped out of the bathroom. Grabbing his jacket, Dean headed towards the motel door. He checked on Sam first. His baby brother was still asleep. Good. He stepped outside and closed the door quietly.

"Elizabeth?"

"Still here," was the soft reply. She sounded less upset than earlier. Dean counted that as a win. He definitely wanted her calm for his explanation.

"It was a shapeshifter."

"Shapeshifter? Like a skinwalker?"

"Close enough. Both can shed their skin and take on a new form. Shapeshifters strictly imitate humans though. The one in St. Louis decided to go on a little murder spree and was framing the boyfriends for it."

"So it took on your form, used your face to kill."

"Almost killed," Dean corrected. "It didn't kill the last victim. The police arrived and interrupted it. That's why my face wound up plastered on the news. But I got the SOB in the end. The police just assumed it was me who killed the other women."

He didn't add that the monster used his face to beat the crap out of his baby brother and that it died far too fast for what it had done.

"And you let them."

Dean shrugged even though she couldn't see him. "Well, yeah. They blamed me—the shifter that looked like me, and the other poor shmucks it framed are off the hook."

Elizabeth was quiet for a while.

"Okay, I understand."

Dean waited.

"Will you please tell me why you haven't returned our calls?"

The hurt and worry was plain. But she didn't sound demanding or even pleading. She was simply asking and would accept whatever answer or non-answer he gave. Dean closed his eyes, feeling the familiar bite of guilt gnawing at him once more. She deserved better from him. So did Peter.

With a soft exhale, he gave her the Reader's Digest version of Dad's disappearance and then the murder of Sam's girlfriend, Jessica Moore. Elizabeth was a smart woman. She'd know he wasn't telling her everything and respect that. It was one of the many reasons he adored her and was thrilled that Peter had married her.

His story finished, Dean fell silent and waited for Elizabeth's response.

"Is there anything Peter and I can do?"

Dean couldn't believe his ears. Who in their right mind would offer to get involved in the chaos that was the Winchester life? Peter and Elizabeth. He shook his head. Dean was not one to believe in miracles, he'd seen too much evil in the world, but if there ever was anything that came close to a miracle in his life, it was the friendship he had with Peter and Elizabeth Burke.

"No, no, but uh, thanks."

"All right." Elizabeth sounded reluctant. Then in a stronger voice, "Will you try to let us know you and your brother are okay? Just…don't leave us in the dark."

"I can do that."

~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~

**June**

"Hey, Dean, where have you been?"

"Aw, you worried about me, Samantha? That's sweet."

"Whatever." Sam rolled his eyes. Despite the attempt at humor, he could tell Dean's heart wasn't in it. His smile was brittle and his eyes shadowed. Thank God it wasn't even close to the same shadow from a couple weeks ago when Dean was telling him what happened with the shtriga years ago.

"Come on, man!" he cajoled. "Where did you go?"

Dean just shrugged. "Nowhere exciting, Sammy. You have a good time with Sarah yesterday?"

He tossed Sam one of his best horn dog smiles.

"Not what I asked, Dean."

Dean just shrugged and ignored him. After a minute of just watching his brother pack his clothes, Sam huffed and threw up his arms. "Seriously? You're not going to tell me?"

"Tell you what? There's nothing to tell, man! I enjoyed a day off while you spent a day getting busy with the lovely Sarah."

"Dean, you always disappear for a day when we're near New York. Always! I don't get it, man. You hate cities. You're always complaining about all the cars and the idiots driving them."

"Of course I hate cities. Have you seen how those morons drive? They make the little ol' lady from Pasadena look like a soapbox racer on a Nascar track."

Sam rolled his eyes. "My point is, whenever we're on a job in or around New York, you take a detour and run off somewhere. Alone."

"Whatever. Finish packing. I want to get on the road by ten." Dean zipped his duffel.

Deflection. The Winchester specialty. Well, not this time.

"You visit the professor and his wife, don't you? That's where you were yesterday."

Sam tried not to wince as Dean's expression shuttered, iron defenses slammed into place. Crap.

"If you already know, why are you asking me?"

"Because, man, I want _you_ to tell me! I mean, you were the one who told me we can't have any connections outside hunting! And here you are, going to visit the professor every chance you get."

"Sam," Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It isn't the same, alright."

"Really? How?"

"Because Peter knows about our job, what we do. He's not some ignorant civilian or another idiot cop. It's not like I'm lying my butt off every other sentence because I'm trying to keep him in the dark." The older Winchester threw his duffel over his shoulder and headed toward the door. A clear sign Dean considered the subject was closed. But Sam wasn't going to be put off.

"What about his wife?"

"What about her?"

"She doesn't know."

Dean gave him an '_are you kidding me'_ look.

"She knows? Since when?" Sam asked, incredulous. The sweet, motherly woman he remembered meeting when they dropped off the rescued puppy couldn't possibly know about what the Winchester family did for a living. Could she?

His big brother's hand was on the doorknob. "What does it matter?"

Too late, Sam recognized the emotional sand trap he had stepped in. Stupid!

"It doesn't," he quickly said. "I just—Dean, I didn't mean it's a bad thing. I'm glad you're friends with them." Dean paused and glanced back, skepticism plain. Sam repeated earnestly, "I am. Promise! Guess I just wasn't expecting it, you know. I mean, you and dad are such lone wolves…and…" Crap, how could explain this and not send Dean into lockdown for the next month?

Dean's eyebrows drew together.

"This is because of Sarah and Jessica, isn't it?"

Sam looked away, shifting his weight from one foot to another. It really sucked having a brother who knew him so well sometimes. He saw and knew stuff about him before Sam even knew. It bugged the crap out of him. Sam's one consolation was he could do the same thing with his brother. Most of the time.

"It is." Dean sighed, dropping his duffel back on the bed. "Sam, when I told you we can't have connections outside the job, I meant we can't with civilians, with people who don't know. If we do…"

"But what about Dad's rule: _we do what we do and we shut up about it_?"

Dean shook his head and exhaled. "Do you know why Dad made that rule?"

"Uh, to keep us from blabbing and getting into trouble?"

"Yeah, and to keep Social Services off our backs. One time Social Services got ahold of us while Dad was on a hunting trip. They separated us and were going to put us in separate homes. Dad managed to get us out in time, but it scared him pretty bad I think."

Sam's mouth opened and closed. "I-I don't remember that."

It was like Dean telling him Dad was scared of Sam leaving and going to college back when they worked that curse case with the bugs in Oklahoma. Dad didn't get scared. He was fearless, always in charge. Sam had a hard time wrapping his mind around the idea.

"Well, you were pretty little at the time," Dean excused. Sam frowned. How little, he wondered, because Dean seemed to remember quite well. Even mentioning it seemed to agitate his big brother. "Anyway, after that, Dad established the rule that we don't talk about the job, ever. It was primarily for me until you read Dad's journal and found out everything."

That made sense. It was only after he learned about his dad's real job that his dad laid down the rule, among others, and began training both brothers hard.

"What's your point, man?"

"The point is the rule was to protect us while we were kids. Now, whether or not we tell is our decision."

"Like when you told Cassie."

Dean grimaced, tipping his head forward in acknowledgement. "Yeah."

"You think I should have told Jessica."

"Eventually, yeah. I mean, lying about your past, your life, isn't exactly good for a relationship."

Sam flinched.

"I didn't tell her, and she—" he broke off, unable to finish.

"Sam, whether or not she knew doesn't necessarily mean the demon could have been stopped," Dean said gently. "It wanted to kill her, and it did. Just like it killed Mom. I mean, even with your weird psychic dreams there was no way you could have stopped it."

The words were familiar now. Dean had told him time and time again Jessica's death was not his fault. But Sam knew otherwise.

"Sarah knows about the supernatural," Sam said, swallowing back the burn of guilt over Jessica's death and focusing on the matter at hand.

"She didn't run screaming the other way, did she?" A small, crooked grin formed on his brother's face. "She actually spent an entire day with you after she learned the truth, Geekboy. Seems to me, she still likes you. You could come back."

Earlier, Sam had dismissed his brother's suggestion that they come back to see Sarah. Now he wasn't so sure it was a bad idea. He still didn't think it was safe to be around him, but after the demon was dead maybe the curse would finally end.

"Maybe. After it's over."

Dean clicked his tongue, reaching down to pick up his bag again. "Yeah, okay. Let's go. If I have to stay in Discoland any longer, I'll go nuts."

Laughing, Sam quickly finished packing and followed his brother out to the Impala. It wasn't until later that he realized Dean had never answered his original question, and he had never found out why his big brother had been upset.

~:~:~:~:~:~

**July**

He abhorred politics, especially at times like this.

They were essential in the work place, helped maintain order, but at the moment Peter could care less about order. What he needed was to go to Blue Earth to attend the funeral of Pastor Jim Murphy. But to get the leave of absence, he had to play the game right so as not to upset the higher-ups. The head of his division and former mentor, Reese Hughes, had been surprised by his request but agreeable. The only tricky part was the upcoming trial Peter was supposed to testify at.

Peter had solemnly promised to be back in time to testify. But he had to visit Blue Earth for at least a day.

Now it was a waiting game while Hughes spoke with the officers, lawyers, and judge involved in the case. But Peter had never been one to be idle. Instead, he started making some calls to Blue Earth, digging for details.

The pastor's death had been sudden and, from the little information the police had shared with him, very quick and brutal. Further probing yielded another clue. Something had happened to the man who found the body in the church. What exactly, he could only guess. But Peter was fairly certain that the man was probably dead as well. The police were determined to keep things under wraps as they investigated. He couldn't blame them.

His stomach hurt as dread took root.

There was no evidence, none he was directly told about anyway, but Peter was certain the pastor's murder was tied to the supernatural world. Pastor Jim was a hunter, after all, despite no longer being as active in the field. The pastor was still quite experienced and offered—had offered safe haven for other hunters when they had needed it.

He had limited options if he wanted to find out what really happened. First, he tried calling Caleb, another hunter whose number Dean gave him in case of emergencies. It kept going to voicemail.

Frustrated, Peter hit the end call button before the voicemail could start again.

Calling Dean was a huge risk. Officially, Dean Winchester was dead. There'd been a public service and coffin buried in St. Louis, after all. No one else but the almost-victim, Rebecca Warren, knew the truth about the _thing_ that went on a killing spree and met its end wearing Dean Winchester's face. A shapeshifter! It gave Peter the willies just thinking about it. He was glad the creature had been stopped, he was, but the price was high.

If Peter was caught talking with a dead man…it would be both their butts.

Peter checked his phone. Still no word from Hughes. He wished his wife was there to talk him down. But Elizabeth was busy with a big wedding event downtown and had been gone since early that morning.

He closed his eyes, pressing his fingers to his temples.

There was no going back if he did this. Peter still remembered his shock at finding the hunter in his living room playing with Satchmo when he came home at noon for lunch one day about a month ago. At first Peter had been ecstatic to see him until he remembered that Dean was supposed to be a dead serial killer. The afternoon was spent in serious discussion about what was going to happen next.

Dean had reluctantly explained this would be the last time he came to the Burke home. Because of Peter. It was like a punch to the face and a pat on the back at the same time. He loved his job, loved helping people and bringing criminals to justice for their crimes. Dean was a criminal, an accused serial killer, and Peter should have reported he was alive. As an officer of the law, it was his duty. As a friend and someone who knew the truth, he couldn't do it. Not without finding a way to prove Dean's innocence. And Dean knew all that. That had led him to his decision to cut off contact, to no longer see the Burkes. But he wasn't going to just go completely radio silent like he had that past fall, for which Peter was relieved.

His postcards with a line or two written on it that started coming after the fiasco in St. Louis kept coming at sporadic intervals. Dean had also given Peter three numbers to call if there was ever any trouble and Peter or Elizabeth seriously needed help. One was for a salvage yard in South Dakota and the others were emergency cell phones Dean and Sam had.

At the time, Peter had thought the likelihood of him actually calling one of those numbers was zilch. Why would he need those numbers when he already had Pastor Jim's? How naive he had been. Now he was grateful for Dean's foresight.

He looked at the paper and the scrawled numbers. No going back.

Peter started dialing.

A sharp exhale escaped him as he listened to the phone ring and ring and ring. It rolled over to voicemail.

Peter swallowed, trying to wet his suddenly dry throat and tried again.

Then again.

Nothing.

Desperate, he tried Sam's number. The result was the same.

He tried the last number, praying someone would answer.

"Singer Salvage," a rusty voice said. "What can I do for ya?"

"Bobby Singer."

"Yeah?" Wary. Good. That meant Singer was probably a hunter. Suspicious seemed to be the hunter default setting.

"I'm Peter Burke, a friend of Dean Winchester's. I've been trying to reach him since I heard about Pastor Jim's death," Peter explained. No point in beating around the bush. "I haven't been able to get hold of him or his brother though. He gave me your number just in case."

He listened to the other man breath into the phone, considering what Peter had said. A heavy sigh followed.

"You the Professor?"

"Yes, Dean tends to call me that."

Singer grunted. "Reckon you should know then."

Peter's stomach dropped to his toes. "Know what?"

An hour later, when Hughes finally called to tell him he had permission to take a few days, he was already packed.

Singer's words kept circling around in his mind in a chaotic jumble. Demon attack. A crash with a semi. Hospital. Coma. John Winchester dead. Sam and Dean injured, but alive. He needed to get out there as soon as possible.

Peter scarcely acknowledged Hughes strict orders to be back in two days or his honor, Judge Eldredge, would have his badge. His focus was entirely on reaching the airport as quickly as possible. He thanked Hughes and hung up.

Quickly, he put Satchmo out back and dialed Elizabeth as he headed out the door.

He was catching the next flight out to Sioux Falls.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Please review?


	11. Chapter 11: April 2007

**Between Shadow and Light**

Summary: Sequel to **Secrets in Shadow**. Haunted by the case in Gettysburg, Detective Peter Burke seeks out Dean Winchester. What started out as trust and mutual respect soon becomes a deep friendship that changes them both. Includes Sam Winchester, Elizabeth Burke, Neal Caffrey, and a special guest appearance by John Winchester. Covers the years 1995-2010.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to their respective creators. I am merely borrowing and playing with them for a little while.

**A/N:** This story was originally written in drabble format and gradually morphed into a much bigger story than anticipated. As such, I combined the drabbles based on the year the drabble occurs or relevance.

* * *

**Chapter 11: April 2007**

* * *

Dean threw back the covers and reached down to grab his boots. Screw this! He'd been tossing and turning for hours. Might as well do something productive.

Fully dressed, he headed out the motel door.

The night was surprisingly warm for April this far north. Dean paused at the Impala, debating where to go. He could always drive around for a while, he supposed. No, he'd just walk. This way Sam would know he hadn't gone far if he woke up to find his brother missing. He doubted it. Sam was just as exhausted as he was.

Dean patted the Impala's hood gently and started walking.

His mind churned.

Stupid djinn!

Sam's earlier attempt at comfort echoed in his mind quietly_. But people are alive because of you. It's worth it, Dean. It is._

Was it really? There were so many people dead, family members they'd been forced to bury. It was like an aching chasm had been ripped through his heart. No, the chasm had been there for some time, ever since Dad died, maybe since Mom. He'd just ignored it, buried it as much as possible.

He huffed and turned down the next street.

The psychobabble really wasn't his thing. Elizabeth was the expert. Fresh guilt ripped through him. Elizabeth Burke, the beautiful and kind wife of 'Professor' Peter Burke. He wished he could call them. Not that he wanted to really talk, but they always made him feel welcome, accepted. They were the only people left outside Bobby, and recently Ellen Harvelle, that he trusted.

But after the murders of Pastor Jim and Caleb, and then his dad sacrificing himself and the Colt for Dean, he knew he would have to cut ties completely. Not just backing off like he had after his supposed death in St. Louis. This was full-stop no contact. Nothing could ever link him to the Burkes. If the supernatural monsters ever found out about them, if that yellow-eyed SOB demon ever found them...

Dean would never forgive himself.

Peter had come out to South Dakota after he learned about Pastor Jim's death. He was there the day after Dean was released from the hospital, the day after John Winchester died. Elizabeth had arrived soon after. It had shocked Dean that they came at all, but he was grateful for their presence. They had helped distract him from his thoughts. All too soon, the couple had to leave, and Dean had become fully immersed in his mission to ignore the pain as anger built up inside him at the sheer wrongness he felt.

His mind strayed once more to the dream world the djinn had trapped him in while he used him as a blood bag. Every one of the people he, his brother, and his father had saved over the years was dead, including Peter Burke. That loss hit him the hardest. Combined with Dream Sam and him not being on good terms, it had turned the semi pleasantness of the dream into a full on nightmare.

It was like that saying about some people coming into your life and leaving footprints, or some lame thing like that, on the heart and forever changing a person. The Burkes had done that to him, as sappy as it sounded.

He had to protect Peter and Elizabeth, but he didn't know how beyond no longer contacting them. Just like he didn't know how to protect Sam from whatever plans the yellow-eyed demon had. He was doing his best, keeping Sam close and keeping a sharp eye out, but there was little else he could do.

The helplessness was killing him. It was like what he'd said to Sam months ago by that lake, when he finally broke down and told his brother their father's final words. Everything was spinning out of control. John had said he might have to kill Sam, Sammy, his _baby brother_; the baby he'd protected and cared for his whole life.

It didn't bear thinking about. Dean wasn't going to let it happen. He was going to save his brother. Destiny could go screw itself.

Dean spotted the river ahead of him, marking the edge of town. He startled. Had he really walked that far?

Crap, not good. Dean mentally kicked himself. _Pay attention, soldier_! Anything could have jumped him. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Grimly, Dean turned back. Every sense was on alert as he made his way back to the motel and his sleeping brother.

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**_Thanks for reading! :)_**

*End Note: The quote Dean is thinking of is this one—"_Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some stay for a while, leave footprints on our hearts, and we are never, ever the same" __**~ Flavia Weeden**_


	12. Chapter 12: February 2008

**Between Shadow and Light**

Summary: Sequel to **Secrets in Shadow**. Haunted by the case in Gettysburg, Detective Peter Burke seeks out Dean Winchester. What started out as trust and mutual respect soon becomes a deep friendship that changes them both. Includes Sam Winchester, Elizabeth Burke, Neal Caffrey, and a special guest appearance by John Winchester. Covers the years 1995-2010.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to their respective creators. I am merely borrowing and playing with them for a little while.

**A/N:** This story was originally written in drabble format and gradually morphed into a much bigger story than anticipated. As such, I combined the drabbles based on the year the drabble occurs or relevance.

* * *

**Chapter 12: February 2008**

* * *

The phone rang, cutting through his concentration. Annoyed, Peter picked it up without checking the ID and answered curtly. "Burke."

"Boss, turn on the news. Channel 7. There's something you need to see."

A seed of foreboding sprouted in his stomach.

"What's going on, Diana?" Diana Berrigan, his probie of two years, didn't call him like this on a whim. Something was up.

"The police station in Monument, Colorado, exploded last night. Agent Hendrickson was there holding the Winchesters."

Peter nearly dropped the phone in surprise. He hastily clicked on the television. As the report played, Peter sank down onto the couch, unconsciously hanging up.

Elizabeth found him there, two hours later, staring numbly ahead.

"Peter?"

"He's dead, El. They both are."

Elizabeth glanced at the replaying footage and immediately sat down beside him, wrapping her arms around him.

"Peter, you can't know that. Maybe they faked it like before."

Peter shook his head, not looking at her. "Not this time," he choked out.

"Honey…"

"Do you remember when he called out of the blue couple weeks ago?" Peter asked gruffly, finally turning to face her.

"Yes. You said he sounded off, like he was…" Elizabeth paused, horror washing across her features. "He was saying goodbye," she finished in a whisper, tears filling her eyes.

Peter bowed his head.

"Do you—do you think he knew?" Elizabeth's fingers wrapped tightly around his hand.

Peter jerked his head. "He must have suspected at least."

Though how Dean could have known eluded him. Perhaps something supernatural, demonic maybe, had been after them? It was possible. The reporter had not said much, except that the Fire Department speculated the cause was a ruptured gas line. Sure! That was typically code for 'we don't have a clue'.

Peter could feel Elizabeth's frame trembling. Abruptly she grabbed for Peter's cell phone, but he caught her hand.

"I already tried." He hated to destroy the last shred of hope his wife had, but it would be worse for her to hear what he had. "All I got was voicemail or that the number was out of order."

"What about that number for South Dakota?" Elizabeth demanded.

Peter could see the same desperation in her eyes that he had felt. He tried to swallow around the cotton wad in his mouth. "I spoke with Bobby. He—they're gone, El. They're gone."

Dean and Sam Winchester were dead.

"No." Elizabeth whispered, shaking her head.

Peter pulled Elizabeth close as the first sob wracked her frame. He buried his face in her hair as the tears he'd been fighting since he saw the report finally fell.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Two more chapters to go.

Please review?


	13. Chapter 13: 2009

**Between Shadow and Light**

Summary: Sequel to **Secrets in Shadow**. Haunted by the case in Gettysburg, Detective Peter Burke seeks out Dean Winchester. What started out as trust and mutual respect soon becomes a deep friendship that changes them both. Includes Sam Winchester, Elizabeth Burke, Neal Caffrey, and a special guest appearance by John Winchester. Covers the years 1995-2010.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to their respective creators. I am merely borrowing and playing with them for a little while.

**A/N:** This story was originally written in drabble format and gradually morphed into a much bigger story than anticipated. As such, I combined the drabbles based on the year the drabble occurs or relevance.

* * *

**Chapter 13: 2009**

* * *

**February**

He lay with his arms crossed under his head, staring up at the blank bland walls of his cell. Before, his cell had been full of drawings and pictures he'd drawn or acquired during his stay. Everything was gone now as punishment for his escape.

A knot twisted in his stomach. It would be a week tomorrow since he broke out and found Kate's apartment empty; a week since he asked Special Agent Peter Burke to meet him. Peter would keep the meeting, Neal was sure of it. The agent was a man of his word. He would come.

Hope rose and fell inside him like the ocean tides.

There was no way of knowing just how the agent would react to his proposal. Burke knew him surprisingly, and almost disturbingly, well after a three year chase. Neal was gambling on the information he'd received about the agent's current case to be his in.

It had to work.

He had to get out. He needed to find Kate. They weren't over. They couldn't be, not like this. Neal refused to believe their story ended like _this_.

It didn't matter what Peter thought. It didn't.

"_They asked me what makes a guy like you pull a boneheaded escape with only four months to go_."

It wasn't boneheaded! He had been too slow, had not escaped fast enough to find Kate and talk to her.

"_Still, it only took you a month and a half to escape a supermax. Quite impressive_."

Only Peter Burke could offer praise and a rebuke within a few sentences. It was one of the many things he found fascinating about the agent. For an FBI agent, someone who adhered to a boring black and white outlook on life and the law, he could still flip things around and behave in ways Neal wasn't expecting. It certainly had made the chase more interesting over the years.

Bizarrely, Neal couldn't shake the feeling something was just slightly off with Peter. He tried to think of the right word to describe the look in the agent's eyes back in Kate's apartment. The problem was he had not been paying as much attention as he should have.

Only Peter didn't change, didn't understand style or know how to be charming or _anything_. Throughout the three year chase, he had not changed. He had doggedly pursued Neal without tiring, always right on his heels. It had been oddly comforting, even when he was scrambling to stay ahead of the agent.

Yet something had been different. The more he reflected, the more certain Neal became. Something about Peter was different. But what?

Maybe the years on the force were catching up to him, he reasoned. Or maybe it was just because he was in the middle of chasing the Dutchman when the marshals called Peter in to find Neal.

Neal chuckled, imagining Peter's annoyance and anger at being pulled off his case. Oh, he would have loved to have seen the agent's face when he learned Neal had escaped!

Why didn't the nagging unease go away? As plausible as the reasons sounded, he couldn't shake the sense it was deeper.

Neal started going through a list of possibilities.

Physical changes first.

He pictured Peter in his mind, reviewing the encounter from the moment he heard the agent's voice for the first time since the trial four years ago until he was dragged away by the Marshals. The older man had not changed much. Heck, he'd been wearing the exact same suit he was wearing when he caught Neal the first time! The only real difference Neal had noticed was a new line or two around his eyes and his hair was no longer as dark brown as it used to be. But all that could be accounted for, again, by simple aging. Time had a way of changing a man. There were no signs of sickness and he hadn't heard any rumors about Peter's health declining. Peter was active in the field after all, so physically he was good.

Okay. Neal mentally crossed that off the list.

That left something emotional. Peter didn't strike him as a man who easily showed or talked about his feelings, being the tough FBI agent he was. The agent was a relic in so many ways. Neal supposed that was why he had always been so fascinated by him. Maybe there was something going on between Peter and his wife?

Neal turned that possibility around in his brain. A fight? Maybe. Maybe she was sick? Possibly. Neal doubted it. Yet something about the scenario fit…

Weary, he suddenly realized. The unnamed cloud hanging around Peter was that of _weariness_.

Instead of feeling triumphant, his insides twisted.

Weary was not a word Neal would typically use to describe Peter Burke. The man did not give up. Relentless, tenacious, or dogged certainly, but not weary. It fit nonetheless. Peter seemed weary right down to the bone.

Neal rolled over onto his side.

Would it affect his chances of convincing Peter to take the deal? He had no further time to ask his contacts to dig into the man's recent life while Neal was stuck in prison.

Sure, Neal kept tabs on the agent, and even sent him birthday cards. Neal could only imagine what Peter thought about that. He would have to mention them tomorrow. It was the perfect way to remind Peter he could get information that other people had a hard time retrieving. Except he didn't know what had made Peter seem so jaded.

Neal rolled over onto his back again. He needed to sleep.

He closed his eyes. It wouldn't matter. Peter liked him. He would see the merit in Neal's proposal. But on the safe side, he would have Moz look into Peter's life over the past few years and see if there was something Neal missed.

A good con always knew everything about the mark. And when hustling, you had to pay attention to your surroundings and know when to back off. He learned that lesson well years ago thanks to a fellow hustler.

~:~:~:~:~:~:~

**September**

She loved rainy days. There was something about the swirling gray clouds and the falling water that was so relaxing, refreshing even.

Today was such a day.

Absently, Elizabeth scrubbed the bottom of the pot to remove the remains of lunch. Peter had actually made it home to enjoy it with her. A smile creased her lips as she thought about her husband. He was livelier than he had been in years. It had warmed her heart to see.

All thanks to Neal Caffrey.

Neal was a curious young man and Elizabeth could proudly claim she knew that personally. Fascinating, suave, and surprisingly young, Neal Caffrey had definitely left an impression. It was doubtful Neal realized the main one he left her with was that he was most assuredly lost. She saw the way the boy looked at her husband, how the expression was slowly but surely morphing into something akin to adoration mixed with respect. Peter was oblivious, as usual. It reminded her of another young man who had looked up to Peter and at the same time acted as Peter's protector.

She put the pot down, bowing her head as the grief pricked her.

Had it really been over a year since that terrible day?

Elizabeth moved away from the sink, staring out the window.

She missed his laugh and his gruff voice, how he teased her and would call her Little Sister to get a rise out of her. She longed to watch him play a game of one-on-one or throw around a baseball with Peter. She wished he could still stop by and visit without warning, when the job brought him nearby, to play with Satchmo and surprise Peter and her with a meal. She yearned to feel his awkward, but warm embrace.

What would he think about the deal Peter had made on the behalf of the FBI with Neal Caffrey? Her lips curved in a tiny smile. Dean would probably call Peter crazy, give him a lot of guff, and then turnaround and take Neal under his wing, just like Peter had.

It was raining harder now. Water was pouring down the window sill like a river to the ground below.

Everything changed after he had died. Peter had thrown himself into his work and so had she. The first few months were the worst. Elizabeth kept expecting—hoping—Dean would just show up out of the blue with a cocky grin and an apology for not letting them know sooner why he faked his death. She would yell and scream, probably slap him, and then hug him senseless.

The loss hit her husband even harder. Peter would never admit it aloud, but Dean had become like family. The past couple years with contact limited to phone calls or the occasional post card or letter had been rough. It was one of the only times Elizabeth suspected Peter regretted being an FBI agent. Harder still was knowing the truth, and knowing no one would believe either of them if they went to Dean's defense. Dean had chosen to step back as a result, to protect them so they would not be forced into such an awful position.

You never knew what you had until you lost it. Elizabeth never realized how true that was until Dean withdrew and finally died.

She saw Peter sometimes, sitting in the backyard absently twirling a basketball or baseball in his hands. Other times Peter would look at Satchmo with an unreadable expression on his handsome face. He was remembering and longing, just like her.

Never again. The man who had become like a brother to her and Peter was gone. Dean Winchester was dead.

But Neal Caffrey was changing things. Peter was more animated then she had seen him in a long time. His old bursts of inspiration were returning, as was the playful and sweet man who had pulled back into his shell after they'd learned what happened.

The other day, Peter had come home complaining that working with Neal was like working with Peter Pan. Amusingly, he didn't seem to realize he was speaking with a tone of fond exasperation.

If Neal was Peter Pan, Dean was Aragorn she decided. Dean was a man whose bearing reflected the nobility and scars of lordship and war but hid his true age. She smiled sadly. Dean probably would have called her crazy, said he was no king, much less noble, and compared himself to The Man with No Name instead. It fit too. As far as the world was concerned, Dean Winchester was just a man who went crazy and murdered innocents before meeting his end in fire. End of story. But to her and Peter, he was just Dean. A young man, who had slipped into their lives with no warning, changed them irrevocably and then, just as suddenly as he came, disappeared.

_Riiiiiiiiing_!

Elizabeth jumped. Oh goodness gracious, how long had she'd been standing there lost in thought? She quickly picked up the phone and greeted her assistant Yvonne.

She'd just put the rest of the dishes in the dishwasher later.

* * *

_**One more chapter to go.**_

_**Please review!**_


	14. Chapter 14: June 2010

**Between Shadow and Light**

Summary: Sequel to **Secrets in Shadow**. Haunted by the case in Gettysburg, Detective Peter Burke seeks out Dean Winchester. What started out as trust and mutual respect soon becomes a deep friendship that changes them both. Includes Sam Winchester, Elizabeth Burke, Neal Caffrey, and a special guest appearance by John Winchester. Covers the years 1995-2010.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to their respective creators. I am merely borrowing and playing with them for a little while.

**A/N:** This story was originally written in drabble format and gradually morphed into a much bigger story than anticipated. As such, I combined the drabbles based on the year the drabble occurs or relevance

**A/N 2:** So here it is, the final chapter in this story. I want to thank each and every one of you who have reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this story. You guys are awesome!

To my three anonymous reviewers: thank you so much! :D I hope this last chapter answers your questions and hopes. :)

* * *

**Chapter 14: June 2010**

* * *

It was over.

Dean wanted nothing more than to collapse and sleep for the next six months. Every part of him felt battered and bruised, from his toenails to the tips of his hair. Yet here he was, sitting wide awake on Bobby's porch swing at half past one while everyone slept inside.

He rocked back, for a moment just taking in the simple rhythm of moving back and forth. After yellow eyes died, the sense of accomplishment had been immense and left him free and relieved, if only for a short time. There had been a small matter of his deal with the Crossroads Demon to save Sam to contend with. This time, it was truly over.

Naturally, there was still work to do. The Apocalypse may be averted, but the monsters and evil beings were still out there killing innocent people. A hunter's job was never really done. Well, for a few months, other hunters could take care of those jobs. Sam and he needed some serious R&R first. Bobby and Cas too. The actual rest part might last a week or two at best before Dean got restless. Either way, they needed downtime, needed time to heal after all the crap they had been through. Bobby was wheelchair bound for the rest of his life. Castiel was, for all intents and purposes, almost fully human and unable to return to heaven until the real end of the world came. Sam was still dealing with the fallout from his demon blood addiction, which thanks to Famine had returned full force back in February. They all deserved time to rest, to re-group, to come to terms with everything that happened.

Oddly enough, Dean felt a modicum of peace with his life. He chalked that up to Michael's influence. The archangel had proved to be completely different from everything he had been led to believe. It was why, when the time came and a plan was in place, Dean agreed to be the angel's vessel for a time. Needless to say it was an experience Dean both wanted to forget and remember at the same time. Having an archangel inside you certainly changed your perspective on things.

Suddenly, feeling restless, he climbed to his feet and gingerly made his way to the edge of the porch. Tilting his head back, he stared up at the vast expanse of stars. He easily found the North Star, glittering brightly in the clear night sky.

It reminded him of an old friend who loved astronomy almost as much as he loved the challenge of solving complicated puzzles and catching bad guys at the end. A dull ache spread through his chest, familiar and strong. As far as Peter was concerned, the Winchester brothers had died back in Colorado over two years ago. With his deal coming due, Dean had not seen the point in correcting that. It would only hurt Peter and Elizabeth more. That was when he thought he was going to Hell forever. He never expected to be rescued, by an angel no less. For a while he considered calling or sending a post card or sign that he and his brother were in fact alive and still doing their job. In the end, he had decided not to. How could he explain the deal he made to save Sam? How could he explain Hell, what he had done down there? Peter and Elizabeth would ask. He knew they would. They were those kind of people—they _cared_ and were persistent because they cared. There was also the impending Apocalypse and the breaking of the seals and Lilith. In the end, shame and the desire to protect them won out, and he had never contacted them.

Maybe he should.

Dean breathed in a deep shuddering breath. Was it the right thing to do? He had been dead to them for so long. Surely it wouldn't be right to just pop back into their lives and leave again. But continuing to let them believe he was dead wasn't right either. He could only imagine how he would feel if Sam or Bobby or Cas had died and come back, but never told him they were alive. Peter and Elizabeth deserved to know the truth. Dean ran a hand through his hair. If he did contact them, he would have to come clean about everything that happened. And if they never wanted to see or speak to him again afterwards, so be it. Dean had made his choice years ago. He would have to live with the consequences.

He could only hope and pray that Peter and Elizabeth may one day forgive him. If not, he would bow out of their lives gracefully and never bother them again.

~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~

"Hey, hon," Peter called as he came through the front door. The heavenly aroma of Elizabeth's famous pasta sauce was a welcome one after the last case. Kidnapping cases were not his usual fare, nor was dealing with an extremely paranoid, mistrusting, bespeckled man who drove him crazy on a regular basis. Thankfully, the case had ended well. Navarro and his goons were in prison; Gina DeStefano was home safe and sound.

He had just dropped Neal off at June's so the CI could catch up on sleep after the past two crazy days. Peter knew exactly how Neal felt. Maybe this experience would help Neal realize how often he put Peter in similar situations and think more before he acted. A rueful smile creased Peter's face as he put down his briefcase and took off his jacket. For a while, perhaps it would deter the young man, but not for long. The kid was too adventurous.

The silence brought him out of his thoughts.

"El? Honey?"

Peter stepped into the living room and finally spotted his wife sitting at the table. Something was wrong. Her shoulders were hunched and as he came closer he realized she was shaking. Satchmo was at her feet, looking just as distressed as she.

"Hon."

He put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Blue eyes brimming with tears looked up at him in shock. "Peter! I didn't hear you come in."

"What's wrong?" Peter asked, beginning to feel panic rising. Elizabeth rarely cried and seeing her so upset now set all his internal alarms and defenses on Def Con Delta. What happened? He had to know if he was going to fix it.

"He's alive."

Before he could ask what she meant, she lifted up a post card Peter had not noticed in front of her. It was a generic Route 66 postcard probably from a gas station. He accepted the card, heart starting to race in his chest. No, it couldn't be.

Slowly, he turned the card over.

Peter exhaled sharply. He was only peripherally aware of his knees giving out as he sank to the floor. Elizabeth immediately joined him, and he wrapped his arm around her. Satchmo whined and burrowed against Peter's other side.

The message was short but concise.

_Dear Professor and Little Sister,_

_I'm sorry._

Below was a series of numbers that Peter recognized to be the coordinates for a post office drop. It wasn't signed. Not that there was any need. There was no doubt who had sent the postcard.

"Dean."

**FIN**

...for now..

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading! I hope ya'll enjoyed the ride. :D_

_If interested, I included a small teaser for the next story below._

~:~:~

**Coming next summer/fall: ****Mist and Shadow**

Peter has been reassigned to the evidence warehouse after disobeying orders and finding Neal. Neal is now working with Diana and Jones on cases. Unknowingly, their current case puts them on a collision course with the Winchesters.

~:~:~

_That is all._

_Happy Thanksgiving to all my USA readers, and to everyone else I hope ya'll have a wonderful holiday season!_

_Noelani618_


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